#to have finally have a sturdy footing of my art and follower count after trying to work for it for so long

[matamisin]

Aight so I was told that my art doesn't appear in the tags anymore soooo

I miiiight be putting up art on Twitter more frequently instead of tumblr as some kind of crutch to start building up again?

[mhashorts]

When Our Eyes Meet

Inspired by mmajjyc’s art on TikTok.

Pairing : God Izuku Midoriya x Reincarnated Katsuki Bakugou

Prompt : God falls in love with a mortal, only to lose him. The reincarnation of his lover slowly remembers him after making eye contact with a painting.

Genre : Romance, Fantasy, Anime

Word Count : 1,550....I think.

It was a sudden visit to the museum, nothing interesting to be expected besides the random pieces of art made years ago by artists known and unknown. And some new pieces of modern art of course. Eijirou thought this trip would be a great outing, something different from the amusement parks, arcades, and movie theater. He also needed the visit so he could write the 5-page essay on specific pieces of art for his college class that was due in two days. Not like he was going to tell any one of his friends that though. Unbeknownst to him, Denki and Katsuki did know the moment Eijirou pulled out his notebook from his backpack once they stepped foot on the museum’s front steps. They just did not want to ruin the positive atmosphere.

Grumbling as the trio walks further into the museum, Katsuki separates himself from his friends but stays close from behind as they enter the Japanese God’s and Goddesses exhibition first. There were a decent amount of people examining the art and sculptures, silently speaking amongst themselves. Some even attempting to sneak a few pictures of the angels in the paintings.

Eijirou and Denki walked at a fair pace, catching glimpses of everything here and there. Coming up to a huge mural-like portrait painting, Katsuki stops in his tracks and stares up into the eyes that suddenly caught his attention. He stays fixated on this piece of art that displayed a crying angel, paying no mind to his friends who continued walking, leaving him behind.

Deciding he wanted to know more, out of pure curiosity, he calls out to Eijirou. “Oi. Shitty hair, give me the guidebook.” He demands, not sparing him a glance as his focus stayed on the painting. “I wanna know who this is.” Eijirou turns to him (as well as Denki) and brings the book up to his face, flipping through the pages.

Finding the right page, he reads it out to his friend who was ready to listen. “It’s a representation of Izuku, The God of Peace. He answered people’s prayers and was worshipped in all Japan in ancient times.” “One day he fell in love with a mortal, and he was banished from the god realm.” An image of Izuku with a huge smile flashed through Katsuki’s memory suddenly, causing him to shudder. He did not know why but it felt like déjà vu to him. Like he has experienced seeing that smile before in person.

“Legend says he is among us, trying to find the reincarnation of his long-lost lover… who remains unknown?”

Katsuki’s eyes stayed on the face of the green haired angel and his eyes widen as another memory flashes through his brain once more. This memory was vividly clear to the point a single tear fell down his cheek. He shakes his head to rid the memory, but it was no use. Then he recalls the dreams he had that he never remembered the morning after. Unable to tear his eyes away from the green ones that stared back, Katsuki jumps to the touch of his friend’s hand on his shoulder. He turns to them with teary eyes. Eijirou and Denki stand their shocked, not knowing what to do since this was the first time seeing their hardheaded friend so emotional.

“Are you okay Bakubro?” Eijirou asks, “Did I say something wrong?”

Katsuki uses his sleeve to wipe his tears and shoves his way past the two.

“Woah. I didn’t know he cried. He’s usually so kept.” Denki states, watching his friend leave the exhibit. He looks at Eijirou, “I’m worried. Should we go after him?”

It doesn’t take the red-haired friend more than two seconds to respond, “Just give him a minute. I think he needs to be by himself for a while. I’m sure he’ll message us if he goes home.”

“Okay.” The two continue their visit.

~

Katsuki makes his way out of the museum in a rush, not caring if he bumped into anyone on accident. He was somewhat thankful that his friends did not follow him out, not wanting to break down even more in front of them. He treks down the stupidly long cement set of stairs and when he finally reaches the last step, he trips over his own feet. With no way to prepare himself for impact, he closes his eyes, only for him to land in a pair of sturdy arms.

“Woah. Are you okay?” The person who caught him asks, helping him to his feet. “These stairs seem to be a little steep. There should be a sign that says, ‘watch your step’. Haha.” He jokes before pulling his hands away from Katsuki. Looking up, the two make eye contact and the memory floods back.

~Flash Back~

Izuku’s face was covered in dirty tears as he held his lover in his arms, his face buried in the ash-blonde hair that was now stained red. He screamed out to the gods, begging for forgiveness so he could heal his dying lover. Alas, the gods did not respond to his cries. He rocked his dear Katsuki, kissing his face over and over in hopes that the gods and goddesses saw his pain.

“Don’t die on me. I cannot live on this world without you. I just can’t.” He pulls him closer, “Please Kacchan. Please.”

Katsuki lets out a small cough, placing his hand on Izuku’s tear stained face. “I wish I could, but I don’t have immortality like you, my love.” He whispers, “Or else I would walk on this earth with you for eternity.”

“No. Not like this Kacchan. I won’t let you die.” “I can’t be healed, whether it be from the gods or yourself.” Izuku cries get harder, “This is all my fault. If I didn’t fall in love with you, you would be living peacefully.”

“Yet here we are.” Katsuki coughs, “It’s not your fault Deku. None of this was your fault. I fell in love with you, and nothing could come between that, not even the gods. Please, do not blame yourself.” More coughs erupt and blood falls past Katsuki’s lips.

“I’m sorry, my love.” Izuku apologizes. Katsuki uses the last of his strength to bring Izuku’s head down so their foreheads touch.

“What did I say Deku? Don’t apologize.” He grunts, “We will meet again. And when we do, I may not remember until my eyes meet yours.”

“O-of course.” The two share a final kiss and once Izuku pulls away, Katsuki’s body falls limp.

“Got damn you!” He shouts up at the sky, crying harder. “I did nothing wrong but fall in love with someone who had a heart! You all would do the same if you were in my place. You let me keep my immortality but at what cost. To see my suffering for falling in love!”

He looks down at Katsuki’s body once more, “When our eyes meet. I’ll see you again Kacchan.”

~End of Flashback~

Reality sets back in and Katsuki is in shock. He does not break away and looks deeper into the familiar green eyes. “Deku?”

Izuku, equally shocked, slowly starts breaking out into tears. “Kacchan? Is that you?”

Engulfing Katsuki into a hug, he brings his hands to the ash-blonde hair. Soft and spikey, same as before. He pulls away for a second, examining the face he dreamed about every night. The lips he remembered kissing. The eyes he stared into for hours on end. “Please tell me you remember me.”

Katsuki smiles back, “I do. It’s cloudy but I do my Deku.”

“Yes. I’m your Deku.” He laughs through the tears, hugging his lover again. “It’s been so long Kacchan. I almost lost hope.”

“Like I said, I may not remember until my eyes meet yours.”

They make eye contact again and finally, after decades of their souls being separated, they share a kiss. A spark flows through the two of them, rekindling the fire that has been waiting to be ignited once again.

They can finally live in peace.

~

At the top of the stairs, Denki and Eijirou fist bump. “Our job is done. Great work partner.”

“Do you think we should tell them that the Goddess of Love sent us?” Denki asks.

“Nah. I think they’ll be better off knowing that the gods regret their decision to banish him. Plus, Midoriya is no longer immortal.” They look at Izuku, smiling when they see he is finally at peace and can rest after decades of searching. “It seems like he already knows that.”

“And I don’t want to know what Bakugo would do to us if he finds out we knew about this this whole time. We might be the goddess’s helpers; we can still get hurt.” Denki nods rapidly in agreement.

The two watch on as the lovers walk away, holding each other close as they disappear into the crowd. “We are good friends.”

“THEY DID WHAT, DEKU??!!!” Katsuki shouts, running back towards the museum with Izuku right behind him.

“Hey. Do you still have that essay to write?”

“Yup. Wanna go back to the apartment and help me finish it?”

“Yup.” With that, the two book it.

“KACCHAN. THEY DID IT FOR US! DON’T HURT THEM!”

“THEY’RE DEAD.”

The End.....

So, it is the end of the short story I promised. It took me 4 hours to write since I wanted it to be perfect. I tried to input as much detail as possible get make it short. I cried at the flashback part. I also didn’t know if I wanted to do parts but it took me some thinking and I just decided with this. I also added a little funny ending for my pleasure since it’s what I do in my regular writings.

I hope y’all enjoyed it! Let me know if you did!

Also, thanks to mmajjyc for allowing me to write a short story of the duo! You art is beautiful and inspired me to write this since there wasn’t gonna be a part two. Lol! You are amazing!

Thanks again! Much Love - Maia❤️

[xo-phile]

Tides (M!Mer x Fem!Reader) p1

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Excerpt: “Listen,” he started, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure there are plenty of people who have lived next to a body of water their entire lives and are still afraid of it.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so afraid of the water if it stopped producing such obnoxious mermen.”

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: thalassaphobia, emetophobia (just in case, no actual vomiting), situational anxiety, almost drowning

Author’s Note: Hope you all enjoy! If you did, please harass me to finish part 2!

Part 2

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༻✦༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Morning light filtered through your windows, casting shadows of tree branches onto the walls of your art studio. The room was quiet except for the soft scratching of your charcoal against the rough paper of your giant sketchbook and Teddy, your massive Newfoundland water dog, snoring by your feet. You stopped your sketching to rifle through a stack of photographs that you used for reference of the old church in the woods.

The photographs showed a lone brick building, church bell and all, that would have been unobtrusive in design if it weren’t for the fact that it was the only building in the middle of Saggitaria Woods for miles. The chapel’s warm brick exterior and defined architecture stood in stark contrast the surrounding lush greenery. You couldn’t forget the way the trees seem to slowly close in on the stone intruder, while the building stood stoically, seeming to welcome nature’s embrace.

When you looked back up at your sketch, the lines you scratched onto the page didn’t evoke the same balanced contrast. It just looked like trees and a building with a cross. You sighed exasperatedly and threw down your stack of photographs with a hard thump. Teddy awoke with a startle at the sound, and let out a disgruntled huff, looking up at you with disdain.

“Sorry, buddy,” you laughed crouching down to ruffle his massive brown head. The Newfie lolled his gigantic pink tongue in a doggy smile and leaned into your hands in forgiveness. Outside, the sound of a boat’s motor approached and cut off. Teddy jumped up to gallop out the door, with you snatching a cardigan off your chair to follow behind. From your porch, you saw Romero and Willow, old childhood friends, waving excitedly on the dock. Squealing in delight, you broke out into a run down the path from your home to the wooden lake-front dock.

“My two favorite gremlins!” you cried excitedly throwing yourself into Willow’s arms.

The sound of two girls screeching in delight made Teddy start to bark excitedly. Romero,  a six-foot-nine lycanthrope, picked the both of you up for a massive bear hug, swinging you two around like rag-dolls. Seeing your childhood best friends’ faces for the first time since their wedding made you realize how long you had been cooped up with just Teddy for company.

“What are you guys doing here?” you asked, “I thought you guys were gonna move into the new house after you got back from your honeymoon.”

“Well we were, but Dresden asked us to check on you,” Romero said, bent down giving Teddy what looked like the world’s best tummy rub. You looked at Willow in confusion and she rolled her eyes.

“He said he hadn’t seen you take the ferry in like a month,” she said accusingly, arms crossed over her chest, “We wanted to make sure that Teddy didn’t make a snack out of you.” At the mention of his name and the word “snack”, Teddy tilted his head comically. It was your turn to roll your eyes.

“Well you can tell Dresden that I’m up to eyeballs in projects right now and that he doesn’t need to worry.” Willow and Romero gave each other a look before turning back to you.

“How about you tell him yourself? We’re meeting him at the buoy, tomorrow. Think of it as a welcome back party for us,” Willow offered.

The thought of being out in the middle of the lake made your stomach dropped. Willow must have seen the look in your eyes and grabbed your hands to hold them comfortingly.

“It’ll be completely safe, I promise. We won’t go swimming or anything. We’ll just hang out like old times,” she assured. You gave an awkward smile.

You knew your friends were just looking out for you.  They constantly ribbed you for your workaholic nature. If you had a dime for all the times they joked about you painting nature more than being in it, you probably wouldn’t have to paint again for the rest of your life.

“I don’t know guys… The gallery opening is coming up soon and I’m nowhere near where I need to be in the collection to be goofing off,” you tried with a sheepish shrug. You were lucky enough that your online presence grabbed the attention of a curator willing to display a series of never before seen works. The idea of blowing this amazing opportunity, whispered menacingly in the back of your head.

Romero looked at you for a moment and then smirked.

“Oh, that’s too bad. Micah was gonna show us his new boat…” he mentioned casually.

At the mention of Micah, you felt your ears warm at the tips. Willow side-eyed your reaction and added,“He’s been asking about you, you know…”

“Micah?“ you asked skeptically, "What does his girlfriend have to say about that?”

Willow rolled her eyes in response.

“Who cares about her? Micah said she’s not coming. Homies only outing,” she responded waggling her eyebrows.

These little shits, you thought. She knew that was the final nail in the coffin so with a groan, you acquiesced and smiled in defeat. Willow and Romero cheered in victory while Teddy ran around in circles excitedly.

༻✦༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

With your eyes closed, all you could hear was the sound of Romero’s boat, Lobo del Lago, cutting through the waters of Lake Obsidian. The wind whipped past your face and through your hair as the Lobo navigated through rogue waves. When you finally opened your eyes, the sierra mountains that surrounded Lake Obsidian were in clear view. Surrounding redwood forests made the scenery look like something right out of an old postcard you’d find at a gift shop.

Lake Obsidian stretched out for miles around the boat, the water glittering in the afternoon sun. For most people, being out on a boat with friends in gorgeous weather would have made for a perfect day. Unfortunately for you, being this far out on the lake and not knowing how deep below Lake Obsidian reached, made your stomach flutter. Instead, you focused on the horizon of the lake and the surrounding forests passing by in the distance to distract yourself. Next to you was Teddy, who, unlike yourself, stuck his head over the side of the boat, mouth open wide, his tongue and ears flapping in the wind.

At least one of us is enjoying themselves.

"You doing okay, sweets?” Willow asked, sitting down next to you. Her hazel-blonde hair was wind-swept perfection and she looked like an old movie star in her giant sunglasses and strapless one-piece. You, on the other hand, opted for jean shorts and comfortable flannel, not exactly fit for swimming or water sports. You saw in the reflection of Willow’s sunglasses your hair was sticking up in all different directions from the wind and your complexion was looking green. She handed you a bottle of ginger ale and you took it gratefully.

“So far, so good. As long as I don’t think about the bottomless infinity of this godforsaken lake, I think I’ll make it,” you replied, trying to suppress a grimace.

“Well, you’ll have a pretty good distraction soon enough,” she chuckled, giving you a knowing look.

When you felt Lobo start to slow, you looked up to see a cruiser, Siren, approaching. Its pilot, Micah, a sandy blonde Minotaur, was at the helm, waving excitedly. The Siren circled some laps around Lobo causing the breaking waves to rock the boat. The motion caused you to clutch at the railing, knuckles turning white. Teddy was barking madly next you at motion of the boat, excited to see a familiar face.

“Hey Micah, stop showing off!” Romero yelled from the helm as the Siren finally slowed to a stop.

“Sorry, Rome,” the hulking Minotaur laughed from a distance, “Just made some upgrades and she drives like a dream!”

When both boats finally anchored, you willed your face to not look completely sea-sick. Micah hopped over to Lobo as gracefully as a 285-lb Minotaur could and went to give hugs to Willow and Romero. When he came to you, he lifted your whole body effortlessly, into a warm embrace.

“Hey stranger,” Micah smiled infectiously. You couldn’t help but grin back despite the anxiety in your stomach rising even further. You weren’t sure if it was seeing your childhood crush or the fact the you were five feet in the air, rocking in a boat. When he put you down, you took several sips of ginger ale. Teddy started hopping on his hind legs, pawing at Micah, wanting to be carried like you were. Micah just laughed and lifted the 145-lb dog into a hug like he weighed nothing at all.

“I was starting to get worried!” Micah said as he smiled down at you. His large figure was so broad and tall, he blocked the bright light of the afternoon sun from your eyes. He set Teddy down for him to run off somewhere to get his toy.

“You know how it is,” you tried sheepishly, “the work gets away from me…”

“Well it’s good to take a break once and a while,” he said with a big furry palm warm on your shoulder, “It’s nice to have the whole gang together again.”

“Not the whole gang. Looks like somebody wants to show up fashionably late,” Romero said working on unloading paddle boards.

“No worries, let’s just get out on the water while we wait.” Micah started to take off his shirt to reveal a thick, sturdy torso and giant, muscular shoulders. You pretended to look for Teddy instead of openly staring.

“You gonna come out with us? My board can probably hold both of us…” Micah offered with a smile.

“Uuuuh…” you started to say before Willow cut you off.

“Sorry Mic! She’s gotta help me take some pictures for Instagram first,” Willow lied, hooking her arm through yours. Micah’s face fell for a moment.

“Maybe later then?”

“I actually forgot my bathing suit today,” you tried without looking at his eyes. Micah gave you a consoling smile and a shrug.

“No worries. Maybe another time, soon. Gotta make sure you still remember those lessons,” he said with a wink.

Micah had given you paddle boarding lessons in shallower waters before so there was no reason for him to think you couldn’t be out on the water. The words warmed something in your chest, but you felt bad for lying to your friend.

“Thanks, Willow, seriously,” you confessed gratefully to your friend after the boys were out on their paddle boards. You watched Micah’s powerful back flex as he pulled himself through the rocking waves on his board. You wondered what it would feel like under your hands.

“No worries, sweet-cheeks. I was serious about those Insta pics though,” she laughed. The two of you took turns taking pictures in the brilliant, sunny day. The scenery was no doubt, gorgeous, perfect for would-be social media influencers and artists, like yourself. Today, however, you promised your friends you wouldn’t bring work with you, so you ended up lounging on the platform on the back of Lobo, throwing a tennis ball out into the water so Teddy could swim after it. You were on something solid and the waters were somewhat calm, so you were actually able to enjoy yourself.

You were about the throw the ball again, when Teddy started barking at a form in the water. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a long fishtail shimmer as it swam by. It raced over to where the boys were paddle boarding and you saw Romero’s board shake and flip with him on it. When Romero finally surfaced with his hair plastered to his face, Dresden’s head popped up out of the water howling with laughter.

“Dres, you little shit, I was about to win,” Romero deadpanned.

Micah ended up laughing so hard, he fell off his own board with a gigantic splash. The merman and the Minotaur high-fived, still howling with laughter.

“It’s okay, Dresden,” Willow yelled from the boat, “He desperately needed a bath!”

“Sorry Rome, I’ll make it up to you I promise,” Dresden sniggered. He ducked his head underwater and resurfaced again right in front of you.

“There’s our little recluse! I was beginning to think that monster you kept as a pet ate you,” he said pulling his body halfway out of the water to reveal lean, muscular shoulders and strong arms, toned by years of deep-water swimming. He shook the water out of his dark curly hair like a dog, and sprayed it all over you.

“As always, it’s such a pleasure to see you, too, Dresden,” you greeted sarcastically.

“Oh, you wound me. Be nice, or I might change my mind about your present,” he countered, hazel eyes glittering.

“Presents? Oh, well now you’re a man after my own heart,” you smiled, reaching out your palm with a gimme motion. He pulled a satchel bag that was hung across his broad shoulders and threw them onto the platform next to you. You reached in the to pull out a a flat rock the size of a dinner plate. When you flipped it over, you found a perfectly preserved ammonite, embedded into the stone. The white shell shifted hues in the light as you moved it, turning blue, green, and then orange, opalised by time.

“Dres, this is beautiful…” you gasped, as you ran your fingers over the ridges of the fossil.

“Eh, it’s not big deal,” he shrugged nonchalantly, though his complexion and fins framing his face seemed to warm at your praise.

“What!? I want something pretty too!” Willow came out from behind you to start rifling through the bag herself. She pulled out a giant abalone shell, the mother-of-pearl iridescence shining rainbows across its surface.

“Dibs!” Willow declared before running to hide her newly acquired treasure. You and Dresden looked at each other for a moment, and broke out into chuckles. You looked up to admire how the scales framing his eyes shimmered copper and green as he laughed.

“Guess, Willow likes hers,” you snickered, “Must have taken some effort to find this stuff.”

Dresden watched your hands as you traced the ridges of the ancient fossil.

“Like I said, it’s not a big deal,” he said and looked up at you through long, dark lashes, “Consider it a reward for coming out today. Figured if you got some positive reinforcement, you’d want to come out with us more often.”

You sighed and looked up at your friend with annoyance. Dresden put his hands up in apologetically, knowing he touched a nerve.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you already know how it is for me,” you retorted trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. You looked over to where Romero and Micah doing backflips off the Siren, Micah’s laughter ringing through the air. As you sat curled on the edge of the platform, you felt a pull in your chest for not being able to fully enjoy the day with him. Dresden saw your look and made a face you couldn’t quite interpret.

“Listen,” he started, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure there are plenty of people who have lived next to a body of water their entire lives and are still afraid of it.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so afraid of the water if it stopped producing such obnoxious mermen.”

“You say obnoxious, others might use the word ‘charming’.”

“Charming, huh? Doesn’t sound like anybody I know…”

“Give me a chance, and maybe I’ll show you what they mean,” he replied, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Ew, who even are you?” you laughed, “Keep talking to me like that and I’m gonna have to bop you one.”

“Oooh, those are fighting words. Why don’t you come down here and say that to my face? Oh… wait…”

You must have given him your meanest glare because when he saw your face he started laughing uncontrollably. He started to float on his back still shaking with laughter, when you got an idea. You took the tennis ball from out of Teddy’s mouth.

“Hey Dres! Heads up!” you called and tossed the neon yellow tennis ball to the merman who caught it swiftly with one hand. He looked down at the ball confused and looked up to see a gigantic mass of brown fur about to land on his face. Dresden’s girlish shriek and the gigantic splash of water made you double over in laughter. You were starting to catch your breath again when a huge form stepped up onto the platform next to you.

“What’s so funny?” Micah asked, watching Dresden tease Teddy into doggy-paddling in circles to chase his precious tennis ball. You stood up quickly and tried to straighten yourself out.

“Ha… it’s nothing, just Dresden being stupid,” you said with a small smile. Micah took a moment to observe your face and your ears warmed under the attention.

“You know… It’s good to see you out with all of us. I get worried about you sometimes,” he remarked, watching Dresden continue to tease Teddy in the water. Your thoughts paused for a moment as a warm feeling bloomed in your chest, heart fluttering like a bird. You liked knowing that he thought about you, even if it was just out of friendly concern.

Shouldn’t you be thinking about someone who was actually your girlfriend?

“I’m used to it,” you replied, “Not all of us can have a doting partner to keep an eye on them.”

Micah seemed to cringe at the reference to his girlfriend.

“Actually, me and Becca broke up…” he confided. You turned your head to look at him in shock. There was a sort of  dejected look in his big brown eyes. The two of you sat in silence and you thought about his bright, beautiful girlfriend…

No… ex-girlfriend…

Becca was a vibrant personality, energetic and friendly. When you were all younger, Micah and every other teenage boy in town couldn’t help but be infatuated with her. The summer you left for university, Micah had finally built up the courage to ask her out. Four years and one art degree later, when you finally returned to your hometown, it seemed like this gorgeous couple were well on their way to getting married. You nursed this crush for years, never entertaining the idea of actually being with Micah because he always seemed just out of reach…

Until now, I guess…

You reached out to grasp his big furry hands with your smaller ones when you saw the sad look on his face.

“Micah, I’m sorry,” you apologized. He gripped your hand in response and smiled a small smile at you.

“Hey, it’s not your fault. Things don’t work out sometimes,” he sighed. You both looked at each other for a moment in a silence that stretched out a little longer than was comfortable. You looked down and you were still holding his hand and your palm was starting to sweat. With how hard your heart was starting to beat, your were afraid that he was going to notice your pulse quickening. Your mind raced to fill up the awkward silence with something… anything.

“Hey, you wanna race?” you blurted out before you even thought about the words coming out of your mouth. Before you could register the situation you put yourself in, Micah’s face lit up with a big smile.

“You’re on. Winner has to buy loser a case of beer!” he exclaimed as he went to unload the spare paddle board.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

Willow’s gentle voice called your name, snapping you out of your panicked fog. She must have overheard your conversation because she looked just was panicked as you did.

“Hey, um, what’s this about you paddling with Micah?” Willow asked, alarmed. You saw Micah approaching with the boards and paddles.

“I don’t know, Willow, I just blurted it out,” you whispered. Willow looked at you and then at Micah, who was already setting up the boards.

“Okay look, you already know what to do. Micah already taught you. Just don’t look down and you’ll be fine, okay?” Willow coached you before you felt a warm hand pull gently at your wrist.

You barely registered where you were, until a paddle was pushed into your hands and you were standing on the board out in open water. Your eyes were parallel to the horizon the entire time you waited for Micah to push himself out as well, but you couldn’t help but notice how dark the water was below you, stretching down so far, light couldn’t even penetrate it. You’re heart was pounding in your ears.

Somehow, you managed to paddle yourself out and follow Micah on his board, even though you gripped the paddle so tight, your knuckles turned white. Micah turned around to give you a big grin and call your name.

“Better catch up! I can already taste that beer!” He called over his shoulder. You did your best to smile back despite the nausea rising up in your stomach and your heart thumping heavily in your chest.

I will buy you fifty cases of beer if it means I’ll never have to do this ever again, you thought as you moved the paddle mechanically.

You focused on keeping your eyes forward and paddling the way Micah had taught you. It seemed like you were doing okay, too, following Micah’s form toward the designated finish line until a random current caught you and pulled you away from the boats.

Stay calm. Don’t panic. Stay calm. Don’t panic.

Looking up to see the boats getting smaller as you drifted away, you heard a loud buzzing in your ears as you felt panic rise up through your spine. Suddenly, a random wake surged upwards in front of you, causing the nose of your board to tip up and backwards. The last thing you heard was Willow screaming your name and the ringing in your ears reaching a fever pitch before your back hit the water.

You gasped as you sunk and started choking on the water filling your lungs. The sudden chill of the water paralyzed you, even though you did everything you could to will your numb arms and legs to move. The world around you was just about to dim until you felt a pair of arms wrap around you and swiftly pull you to the surface.

When you reached the open air, you started coughing up all the water that you had swallowed. Your hair was pressed flat and wet against your face, blocking your vision, not that you could see, anyway, with the way your head was spinning. You clutched at broad shoulders and felt an arm hook your legs around a waist. A familiar voice- Dresden’s voice was repeating your name.

“I need you breath in and out really slow, okay? We can’t have you hyperventilating. Big breath in. Big breath out.” You breathed slowly like he instructed, your body clinging to his like a blind koala. You felt one arm hold you tightly against a firm torso and a big hand gently brush wet hair, plastered to your face, out of your eyes. He then cradled your cheek, keeping your head still, looking into your eyes with his striking hazel ones. Dresden’s defined jaw was clenched and his eyes were devoid of its usual mischief.

Why so serious?

You giggled a little bit, panic turning into hysterics.

“There she is. Hey, you’re okay. I got you,” he spoke softly, relief in his voice. His vibrant eyes were still flicking back in forth between your own searching for something. For what, you weren’t sure but the funny way his face looked made more giggles bubble up through your chest.

“I don’t think giggling is a symptom of a concussion, so we’re probably good,” the merman observed, “Hold on to my back and I’m gonna swim you back, okay?”

You nodded wordlessly in response and unhooked your legs from around his waist. He twisted around in your arms and started swimming towards Lobo.  Dresden’s powerful arms sliced through the water propelling the two of you forward, but he was careful enough to make sure to keep your head above water. When you approached Lobo, Romero pulled you out of the water and Willow wrapped you up in a thick beach towel. Your fully drenched clothes didn’t help the shiver that wracked your body despite the warm weather. Micah ran up from behind your two friends.

“What happened out there?! Are you okay?” He asked, rubbing your arms furiously over the towel, trying to warm your shaking body. Before you could say anything you heard Dresden’s voice interrupt you from the water.

“She got swept out by a current. When she fell, the undertow caught her. Maybe instead of dicking around, you should have kept an eye on her,” he ground out, angrily. Micah’s eyes flashed to Dresden, anger and confusion bleeding into his face.

“What the fuck, Dres? How is that fair?” Micah retorted, volume of his voice rising.

“Enough!” you yelled before your two friends could start hurling more insults at each other.

Dresden let out a curse and dove under the water, swimming away. Your shoulders drooped and you started to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. At the awkward silence around you, you closed your eyes, not being able to stop the tears from welling up. Willow wrapped her arms around you as you cried silently on the way home.

༻✦༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Through your high windows you could see the light of the waxing moon shining dimly through the redwood trees surrounding your house. You were on your father’s old corduroy couch, wrapped in your thickest cardigan, with Teddy’s big head resting in your lap, softly snoring away.

Willow and Romero insisted on staying the night with you to make sure you were okay after your fall, but you told them you didn’t want to ruin their day more than you already did. When you finally promised that you would go to the neighbors if you felt strange, they took their leave. Hours later, you felt nothing but exhaustion and embarrassment at what happened.

You leaned your head against the cushion, closing your eyes to listen to the lo-fi music playing softly from your laptop. Distantly, if you focused, you could also hear the gentle push and pull of the tides breaking in front of your home.

Your mind drifted to the confusion on Micah’s face when he saw you pulled from the water and grabbed one of the cushions to shove in your face to muffle a groan.

Seriously? What the hell was I thinking?

You then thought about Dresden and the way his voice sounded when he yelled at Micah. Dresden almost always had a confident smile on his face, making crass jokes and pulling pranks. To see him so upset formed a knot in your stomach.

Gently lifting Teddy’s head, you got up from the couch to walk to the art studio. You knew it was too soon to try to start working again, but you needed to feel the charcoal in between your fingertips- to feel like there was at least something  you could control. You found the photograph of the old church and set it up next to your easel, making sure there was enough light on both the blank sketchbook and the reference.

Using the general shape of the building and the mass of foliage surrounding it you started sketching out general locations of where everything was. Then, you started adding in rough detail shaped as a guideline for how to paint. When you looked back at the photograph, though, something felt off. The trees in you sketch didn’t carry the same presence as it did in the photograph.

Is it the proportions? The shading?

You flipped a page to start over, determined to capture the ambience that you felt when you found the hidden church. Again, you sketched the general outline, but started with detailing the church. By the time you managed to sketch out most of the building, something in the proportion was off. You rubbed your charcoal dusted fingers on your forehead, willing away the frustration you felt growing behind your brows.

Before you could throw down your charcoal and call it a night, you heard Teddy whining from the other room. When you rounded the corner, your dog was pawing at the door, eager to get outside. Before you could even fully open the door, his massive form pushed his way out and made a break for the dock, barking ceaselessly into the night. You sighed in exasperation before running after your giant dog to stop him from waking the neighbors.

When you caught up to Teddy, you found him laying on the edge of the dock, nose sniffing at something swimming in the dark depths of the water, tail wagging wildly. Teddy gave another loud bark at a splash and you shushed him.

“Teddy, you’re gonna get us in trouble,” you chided, tuffing at his collar to bring him back inside.

“Gotta say, he’s got a pretty good nose,” came a voice from below the dock that made you yelp in surprise. Dresden swam out into the moonlight and you let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Jesus, Dres! Can we keep my near-death experiences to once a day? Thanks,” you breathed, unclenching your fist from your rumpled cardigan.

“Heh, sorry,” he let out, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

You went to sit at the end of the dock next to Teddy, legs hanging off the edge, toes dipping into the water. Neither of you said a word until you both looked at each other to smile awkwardly. Dresden almost always had something to say, so his silence unnerved you.

“What are doing here so late, Dres?” you asked, breaking the long silence. Dresden floated for a moment worrying his lip between his teeth and then finally spoke.

“I came to check on you…,” he stated, “and to apologize.”

Your brows furrowed and you wrapped your cardigan tighter around your body. You watched him for a moment, observing his face without saying anything.

“So,“ he started, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "Are you doing okay?”

You thought for a moment, stroking the downy fur of Teddy’s ear.

“Yeah, I’m doing okay…” you said, picking your words carefully, “Are you?”

Dresden looked at you in confusion.

“Yeah…? I’m not the one that almost drowned today,” he chuckled, albeit nervously. You let out another deep sigh, this time in exasperation.

“How am I supposed to know? You yell at Micah, who didn’t do anything mind you, and then you just left all mad! I’m not the one that needs an apology, Dresden,” you argued. This time you held his gaze, almost daring him to look away. Dresden did his best to match your stare, but then ran his hands across his face and his hair in frustration.

Before he could get a word in edgewise, you interrupted, “You guys are literally best friends and I already feel bad enough for ruining everybody’s day. I don’t want to be the reason why you two stop talking to each other.” You shifted your weight to lay on your stomach and rest your chin on your crossed arms, not unlike how Teddy looked, next to you. Dresden disappeared beneath the surface of the water and popped up again at the edge of the dock, pulling himself up out of the water enough to be at your to eye level. You pointedly held his hazel gaze until he rolled his and sighed in defeat.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow and apologize. For you. Satisfied?”

Both of you stared at each other for a long moment before sharing a big grin. When you two started snickering like little kids with a secret, a weight lifted from your conscience.

“I never got a chance to thank you for saving me out there,” you said after the soft chuckles you shared subsided, “Thank you. And I appreciate you not telling Micah what really happened.”

Dresden made another incomprehensible face, but you could almost anticipate his next question.

“Why don’t you just tell him you’re afraid of deep water? I doubt he’d care,” he asked, his turn to look you straight in the eye. You looked away as you tried to figure out how to best articulate your response.

“The thing is, is that I care,” you tried, but he just cocked his head to the side in confusion.

“You said it yourself, I’ve lived at Lake Obsidian my entire life, it’s completely irrational!” You buried your face in your arms, thumping your head against the wood deck. “He’ll think I’m a freak for hiding something like that for so long.”

You kept hiding your face in embarrassment and heard a soft curse. Dresden muttered under his breath, “I can’t believe I’m doing this…”

You lifted your head, “Sorry, what?”

“I’ll help you get over your…” he waved a hand in your general direction and said, “issue.”

You were mildly offended and confused.

“And why would you want to do that?” you asked.

“I’ll be sleep better knowing that the next time you try to impress Micah, you won’t end up at the bottom of the lake. Gods know that Micah’s big ass can’t swim as well as I can,” he concluded.

You flushed bright red at Dresden’s blatant remark.

Was I being that obvious?

“Okay then, let’s do it,” you promised before you could talk yourself out of it. Dresden gave you his signature cocky grin.

“Micah’s really lucky. I’ll see you tomorrow before sunset by Driftwood Beach. Bring a paddle board,” he instructed before disappearing beneath the dark water.

“Good night to you, too…” you muttered as stood up, watching the waxing moon’s reflection ripple in the water.

As you and Teddy walked back up to your house, you replayed the conversation over again in your head. That night you dreamed of a warm hand cradling your cheek and voice distorted by water whispering Micah’s really lucky.

༻✦༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

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[mrneighbourlove]

Captain my Captain: Ch 1. Small Town Girl

A small little girl stood looking straight ahead with a mean face. Her brown skin was smooth, save the cut on her lip. With long red hair behind her, it was scattered into the air as she took a punch to the face. The girl fell onto her back, panting through heavy breaths. A Gerudo, just like her, but far older, picked her up by the arm, only to toss her away. The girl had to catch her feet to not fall on her feet. “Rise up Adda! You want to be a pirate? You want respect?”

“Yes Teacher!”

“Then put your arms up and block my punches properly!”

Little ten-year-old Adda turned around to face her instructor, raising her arms. With a fury of blows, her teacher turned them to jelly. Once again, on the fifth punch, Adda dropped her arms in pain. Once more, she was punished with another punch to the face, splitting her lip.

Her breath was hot, and she struggled to get up. If she lied down, she’d be properly beaten. This was just drilling. Just drills. And with all eyes on her, it was better then home.

~

“I’d be successful if it weren’t for you.”

“I know mother.”

“Instead I was knocked up by garbage. In turn I gave birth to trash. That’s what you are Adda. Trash.”

“Yes.” Adda was careful to not repeat herself, least she draw her mother’s ire. Didn’t help as a piece of paper was thrown at her head anyways. And she absolutely did not flinch.

There was a look in her mother’s eye that Adda tried to figure out, but no look like she was studying her mother. After a moment, she shrugged, looking back to her drawing board. “Get out of here.”

Adda took the opportunity, wanting to go to the beachside. Leaving the house, she came across a group of three girls. They weren’t like her, so they sneered as she walked by. However, when Adda turned on them, some of them flinched. Adda gave them a mean look, and they took off. The little Gerudo learned a while ago that no one was her friend, and if she didn’t want to be trampled by the world, she’d have to have to awful sometimes herself.

Reaching the beach, she grabbed a stick and dragged it along the sand. She wasn’t drawing anything in particular. She just wanted to see the sand change its surface. She liked making changes, be it with the stick or with her foot prints. Finally, she decided to write a message for herself.

The rest of the day, Adda kneeled by the seaside, feeling the hot air on her face. It felt good. It was the anything that did. As she finally left, she saw the sea sweep away her message. A happy tenth birthday. Some birthday.

~

Captain Kerrigan was in need of a fresh crew. The Gerudo chieftan looked over the sea chart and went over the flags. Every red flag she had was the location of a rumoured Gerudo. Most of her crew came from the Termina colony, but it was part of the code to seek out any Gerudo and have them join the greater crew. Plucking the last red flag, she had her sights on the port town of Rifraft.

“Collen. Pull into the docks. I’m going to scout out the market for information. I want you to do a count on our rations and see what we can’t replace. If there’s any mercenaries that we can throw away, I wouldn’t mind. But keep it to the budget.”

“Yes Captain.”

The Screaming Predator pulled into the docks, and the Gerudo crew of adults got to work on repairs and restocking. Captain Kerrigan looked around, musing to herself on the lives of these common folk. What kind of living was it to grow crops or fish for hours to acquire one fish at a time?

When she asked around, she got the location of a Gerudo woman who lived alone with a daughter. It sounded promising, until she learned that the Gerudo was a shut in, rude, and didn’t like to see other people that weren’t men for the night. Kerrigan doubted that she could break through to a woman like that. Her daughter, on the other hand, might be of use to her.

With enough searching, Kerrigan was walking along the beachside when she saw a redheaded spitfire running back and worth through the water. “Hey girl! Come here!”

The little Gerudo paused on the spot. There was a moment of worry before she relaxed slightly. She was still on guard, but to her there was no immediate danger. Smart kid. “You like the ocean?”

A question that was often one of the most important to Kerrigan. And the girl’s answer was promising. “I do.”

“That’s really good. I like the ocean too. It’s a large part of my life.”

“Are you a sailor.”

Kerrigan slowly cracked a grin. “In a manner of speaking. You’re a Gerudo right? Just like me. What’s your name kid?”

“Adda. What’s yours?”

“My name is Kerrigan. Captain Kerrigan. Would you like to know what it is exactly that I do Adda?” When she nodded, Kerrigan smiled some more. “I search the seas for treasure. Riches beyond the wildest imagination. And I do anything to acquire them.”

Adda knew what this woman was. A pirate. She had to be. However, she didn’t want to be rude and say it. “Are you here for treasure now?”

“No Adda. I’m looking for more Gerudo to join my crew.” She paused, letting the insinuation hang in the air. “How old are you Adda?”

“I just turned ten yesterday.”

“Ten years old. Must be fate.” Kerrigan noticed a bruise on Adda’s forehead, nodding slowly. “You a fighter Adda? I can’t help but notice that mark on you. People strike you, don’t they? But do you strike back?”

“I don’t like to take crap miss.”

Kerrigan flickered a devilish smile, if just for a moment. “I like the sound of that. Tell me Adda. You got any friends here? Family that’s important to you?”

Kerrigan saw the child look sad. That made her answer inevitable to her ears. “No.”

“Then how’d like to make better ones with me?” Kerrigan knelt down and extended a hand to Adda. “Join my crew Adda. Travel that sea that you love and explore its riches with me. Together, we can give your life the meaning its been looking for.”

Adda’s heart elevated to a quickened pace and she nodded with ecstatic joy. “Do you mean it?!”

“I really do. Think of it as a proper birthday gift to you. Work hard for me, and the world will be your oyster.”

Adda jumped into Kerrigan’s arm, receiving a rare gift from the pirate captain; a hug on the back. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s go kid. Future ain’t going to wait for us.”

~

Adda took deep breaths as her feet felt the sturdy foundation of the ship. Yes, there was the slight rock of the boat with the waves, but it was more stable then the gravel roads of her home town. No. Not home. Not anymore. Not ever again if she could help it. She had a small moment spared in thinking about her mother, until a fire in her mind burned that connection for good. Screw her.

Captain Kerrigan whistled behind her, and some more adult Gerudo flew into action. They quickly secured boxes of rations on the ship and readied the Sceaming Predator for leave.

Adda was captivated by the sails of the ship all the way down to the texture of the paint in the wood. She didn’t care about other people until she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Scarlet, get over here. I have new girl I want you to take down.”

A Gerudo girl, around the same age as Adda, but with a pigtail braid, hobbled over. “Yes, Captain Kerrigan.”

When they locked eyes with one another, Adda didn’t seem too impressed at first. With a square build, the pigtail looked like she was trying hard to look like a girl. “Huh. Hi.”

“Hi. Come with me please.”

Just as Adda was about to, a bell was rung by the second mate, and the ship started to turn. Captain Kerrigan straightened her hat and walked up to the wheel of the ship. “Everyone! We are going home!”

Adda looked at the island, then out at the direction of open sea. This was it. This was the start of her new life. Beside her, Scarlet tugged at her arm. “Come on. Captain Kerrigan said she wants us below.”

Adda begrudgingly followed the girl down below the deck. All she wanted was to smell the ocean’s breeze on her face. Sighing, she supposed she’d have time later.

The other girl turned to her, puzzled. “What, sad about leaving home already?”

“What? Oh, no. I actually was hoping we could have stayed out on the deck for a little while longer.”

“You like the sea?”

“I do. I think it’s really pretty and warm.”

“That’s cool. Give it time.”

Adda followed the girl down a couple levels and into a mess hall. There, there were a few dozen Gerudo girls ranging from her own age to about teenage age. Some were bustling about, others polished boots, and some even played with wooden swords for practice. No one really batted an eye at Adda. After all, she was just another Gerudo picked up.

Adda had a small pouted lip. First time meeting so many girls like her. Least they could have said was hi. Or perhaps she could. “Hello there.”

Some of the Gerudo looked at Adda. For her efforts, she earned a reply. “Hello there. Are you the only one?”

“I’m the newest girl.”

“Guess that makes you the last one too.” A girl with a golden braid down patted a seat next to her. “Why don’t you and Scarlet sit down? I was just looking at the world map.”

Scarlet took a seat, undoing her pigtail to let her hair fall. Adda took another one, looking at the sea charts. When she saw an elaborate image and paper stained with coffee, she frowned. “That doesn’t seem like the whole world to me. Looks more like a painting.”

“A what?”

“A painting.” Adda looked at the girl like she was stupid as a doorknob. “It’s a piece of art.”

“Oh... so is it real then?”

“Maybe? Could be an interpretation of events.”

The girl looked at her, growing frustrated with Adda rather quickly. “Stop saying weird words.”

“Yeah? I can use whatever words I want. Not my fault you don’t know what a painting is. Stupid.”

All the Gerudo turned their attention to Adda now. Was this going to be a trouble maker? The girl who sat them down pouted more, a trembling lip indicating she was going to cry. Scarlet gripped Adda’s arm rather firmly in what felt like out of nowhere, a mean face on her now. “We don’t be mean to one another here. Come on, we’re going to be a crew.”

Adda scowled, trying to pull away. “But its her fault for not knowing.”

“Just because someone doesn’t know as much as you don’t mean you have to bully them.”

Adda looked around, the frown on her own face growing with eyes on her. Not wanting to be beaten up, or lose her standing a minute in, she took a breath to calm herself. “I’m sorry for calling you stupid. That wasn’t nice of me. What can I call you?”

The girl seemed to just pull herself together to stop herself from a melt down. “My name is Natalia.”

“Well Natalia, my name is Adda.” She turned her attention to the rude arm grabber. “You can let go now Scar.”

“It’s Scarlet. Like the colour red.”

“Well Scar. Let go of me now please?”

Scarlet took a moment to register the pun, but when she did, the girl contemplated on squeezing as hard as she could. Not wanting to escalate things on the ship, she begrudgingly let go. She had a small feeling in the back of her head that this Adda would be trouble.

“Thank you. So, huh, what were you looking at on the map Natalia?”

“I wanted to see where we were going. And how far we traveled since I was taken by the captain.” She traced her finger from an island called Ush, traveling south-east from island to island. When they reached Adda’s island, she pointed to a continent they were going to travel to. “This country is called Termina. We’ll be hitting the western shore to a location called the Great Bay.” She frowned when she saw the picture of a giant monster fish next to the bay. “I hope that’s just some art and not real.”

“I heard that the ocean is full of sea-monsters just waiting to spring out from the depths.” An older teenager snickered from close by. “Killer sharks, carnivorous mermen, and ravenous squids! Heck, I heard of a monster that manipulates water to ensnare its prey, crushing their bones and dissolving them to consume.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Adda took a breath into her tiny lungs and shook the cabin with her declaration. “Well I’m not afraid!”

All the young Gerudo were a little puzzled. As the teenager looked down at Adda with doubt, Scarlet spoke what she was thinking. “Really? You’re not afraid of any monster?”

“No. Because I want to see them all with my own eyes. And I’m going to beat them and take any treasures that we come across!”

That intrigued Scarlet enough to not immediately doubt her. “We?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’re all going to be a crew, aren’t we?”

Every Gerudo girl looked around the room at one another. This was true. They all willingly agreed to come aboard to serve. And with their age pool, they’d most likely work together for the rest of their lives.

The question lingered in the air. It wouldn’t be answered as someone call from above. “All you lot! The captain wants you to grab a bucket of water and start scrubbing the ship clean! Get moving!”

The girls all grumbled as they got up from their tables. Adda felt a tick at the back of her mind pry at her. Did anyone want to be a crew?

Just as her doubts started to smoke up, they were extinguished by the smile of Scarlet. “I’d like that.”

~

It was about a week and a half out at open sea. In that time Adda had learned very little about how to sail the ship. However, she did learn all of the levels of Screaming Predator and some history about Captain Kerrigan. The Screaming Predator was stolen from a country known as Danjur, a very rich monarchy with a mighty navy. Captain Kerrigan taught Adda and the other young Gerudo that brute force wouldn’t have cut it, so she stole the deed to the ship and lied about being its rightful owner. When the navy caught on, she was long gone from the kingdom’s borders. There was a time for a show of power, but also times to use your intelligence and wisdom. It was this brazen theft that gave her support from a majority of the crew to challenge the last chieftain’s position of power.

“I thought that you were captain? Not a chieftain?”

“Well Natalia, us Gerudo are different from the common ilk of other pirates and sailors. Our people make up a large tribe. Far, far west, is the land of Hyrule. Our Gerudo sisters there live out their lives in a dry, barren desert, waiting for any countless calamities in dwindling their numbers. Us sea worthy Gerudo can find our origins in Termina, where we are going now.”

Kerrigan tapped a ruby crest on her chest. “The Gerudo of Hyrule have been led by chieftains. Sometimes they call themselves Queens. Or maybe lords. Some just keep to Chieftain. Legend has it they even had a Gerudo King that lead them to bloodshed and darkness. Us Termina Gerudo are the same. Because I lead the Gerudo out to sea, I am your captain. I am the Captain. The highest authority. Because that is what it means to be chief.”

“What if you want to be Captain yourself?”

Kerrigan turned her attention to Adda now. “If you want to be chief, you can challenge me to the position. From there, I have a choice to make. I can be like my predecessor and step down willingly…” With a quick flip of her hand, she pulled out her flintlock, cocked it, and pointed it at Adda. “Or I can kill you, stopping the thought of challenge for quite some time.”

Before the girls could truly react to the threat, Kerrigan flipped her gun back with a smile and put the safety back on. “There’s going to be a lot of things that can kill you. That’s why most of you aren’t coming with me on the next quest. Not until you can handle the worst the world has waiting for you.”

The boat sailed beside a rocky sea wall now, and the captain ordered the young Gerudo to follow her to the edge of the ship. Down below, a colony of sharks was swimming about. “Look down there. See them beasts of the seas? True, killing machines. Can anyone tell me what we share with them?”

The young girls shook their heads, not knowing.

“We’re apex predators. We thrive on the sea. And we kill without mercy, because that’s just who we are.” Captain Kerrigan waved over some of her guards over, dragging a man to the deck. Adda had glanced his way once when he was locked in the brig, but didn’t give him much thought.

“Kerrigan. You slimy bitch. You think my brother is going to let you get away with kidnapping me?” Adda winced at his foul breath and thick western accent. It sounded like chalk grading against marble. The man looked like he had been starved on purpose for quite some time. He didn’t stop as he was pushed against the edge of the ship. “What? Am I some kind of show for these little shits? You fucking cu-”

The whole time, Kerrigan was examining her gun, not giving him much attention. When he was reaving up his vocabulary, she popped him right in the head. Blood bubbled onto the deck, but most fell into the water. The Gerudo Pirates holding him on the side dropped his body to free fall into the water. One of them dabbed her face with a bandana to clean the blood on their face. “Gross. Think I got some brain in the mouth.”

All the youngsters that had never seen death either flinched away or stood paralysed in fear. Natalia clasped her hands over her mouth to not scream aloud; no one did that. Maybe they felt the atmosphere didn’t allow for it. Adda eyes were glued to the smoking gun. The same gun that was lightly pointed with the barrel between her own eyes. With the same amount of ease that could have been her blood scattered across the sea.

Few dared to look over the side of the ship. A moment after the body hit the water, small sharks swarmed the body in a feeding frenzy. As they tore at bits of the limbs, a massive white hopped up and brought its jaws down on the torso.

Captain Kerrigan cleaned her gun with a light sigh. “That man tried to steal from me. Which in extension, tried to steal from you all. Let this be your first lesson! Because we are apex predators, we do not tolerate bottom feeders. There are those who try to steal from us our riches and our lives. If you don’t want your lifeblood sucked dry from you, then you must be willing to kill these parasites first. Now, every one of you grab a sponge and scrub this blood out the deck. It’s a smell you might as well get used to now.”

Adda did as she was ordered. Getting low to the blood with the others, she heard some sniffles. She didn’t turn to see who was on the verge of crying. Best she didn’t get that image in her head. As she took the brush to the deck, she held her breath. Was this the life she wanted?

[utopianvoices]

paladin (1) | s.changbin

↭ genre: mafia au; fluff, angst

↭ word count: 3.2k

↭ description: After being caught up in situations you didn’t want to be in, you vowed you’d never play hero again. But will your conviction hold throughout?

↭ a/n: whew it’s the first time i’m writing action and i’m not very good at it, but i hope it worked for y’all! x it’s just the first part and i’m not so sure how many parts i’ll be writing but do look out for it!! <3

↭ warnings: explicit language, violence (?)

Sitting at the back of the lecture theatre always had its perks; eagle-eye view of everything that was happening below, nap sessions whenever you needed it, and best of all, not being followed by two hundred pairs of eyes when you have to use the main door to leave mid-lecture because your bladder decides that it has reached its maximum capacity. 

You settle into your seat and make yourself comfortable as students stream into the area; your heightened status making others seem like little ants. A few minutes in and you get bored of staring at unfamiliar faces, resorting to doodling flowers and stickmen on the first page of your clean notebook. 

“Maybe I should have applied to be an art major,” you mutter to yourself, admiring your doodle when a voice speaks up from the left of you. 

“You’d have to submit a portfolio during application and no one in their right mind is going to let you into the course.”

Rolling your eyes, you shut your notebook with a ‘snap’, turning to face the person who had the guts to insult your masterpiece.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Seo ‘Shit Hands’ Changbin,” you scoff, taking a good look at the boy beside you, staring him down as he puts his bag onto the ground and takes his seat beside you. “You’re early to lecture today. That’s a first.”

"I can be responsible sometimes,” was the answer you received.

Seo Changbin—your friend from college whom you had the same classes with—never turned up more than necessary. He wasn’t what you would consider a close friend, who you shared insignificant feelings and problems to, but he was friend enough that you could complain about your lecturer’s horrible skills and terrible planning when it came to assignments. 

He was also friend enough for you to be worried about the bruises that covered his knuckles and cheekbone. The colour of the bruises was a clear purplish-blue, indicating that he had acquired them very recently; most probably a day or two before.

“Are you alright?” you ask, eyes filling with worry as you run them over his bruises. “Those look nasty.”

Immediately realising that you had set eyes on his bruises, he turned his face away and hid his hand in his lap, letting out a quick “it’s nothing” before turning the pages of his notes—in hopes of making it look like he was busy studying the material—and you were smart enough to drop the topic as quickly as you had brought it up because it was clear to you that he didn’t want to talk about it.

With perfect timing, you hear the boring voice of your professor flood the lecture hall, making you sigh out loud. 

“I swear, he has to be a siren or something. His voice puts you right to sleep but then he also tries to kill you because of it,” you say, hoping your lame joke was enough to extinguish the awkward silence that was hanging in the air between Changbin and you. And it worked.

It was only for a second, but you were sure you saw the corners of his lips lifting. 

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ •• ✼

It was a Thursday night; which also meant that it was grocery night.

The only reason you chose to go grocery shopping on Thursdays was so that you could spend your Friday and weekends snacking and binge-watching your favourite shows without any unneeded movements. Thursdays were also the best day for grocery shopping because of the many sales the store was offering, to get rid of old stocks before replacing them with new items so that they can increase prices over the weekend. After all, you were a broke college student who was just trying to save money whenever you could. 

"That would be 25.30." The cashier’s monotonous voice reaches your ears, putting robots to shame. Poor chap—he was probably doing a full day shift, dealing with snobby idiots and bratty children. 

Usually, you wouldn’t have bothered when someone else was in a bad mood, but thinking of your favourite show that was waiting for you paired with a miraculous lack of assignments, you throw the cashier a smile and wish him a good night, earning a surprised glance from him. It definitely wasn’t everyday cashiers were wished a good day; usually people just tapped their foot impatiently, waiting to whisk their bags and leave. 

Satisfied with the surprised look on his face, you collect your bags and walk out of the store, a bounce evident in your step as you swing your bags back and forth. With nothing else to entertain you for the 15-minute walk back to your apartment, you start to sing your favourite songs. Loudly. 

Halfway through your self-concert, you start to take notice of the smallest things happening around you: It is a breezy night out; branches on trees swaying side to side freely with the trust that it was safely attached to the sturdy trunk anchored deep down into the soil. The wind combs through your hair as the stars twinkle brightly in the night sky, seemingly winking at everyone cheekily as they walk under them. The moon, seemingly irritated by the stars, illuminates the area brightly, causing the stars to disappear momentarily, but providing the people who were out on the streets with more comfort and a higher sense of security. Simply put, it is a beautiful night.

But while you were busy admiring the smallest things around you, you fail to notice that your beautiful night was about to be destroyed.

“So should I give up but really can I give up we live in a -” You’re abruptly cut off as someone roughly shoves you out of the way, causing you to drop your grocery bags, your groceries spilling out of the bag. You cursed under your breath when you realised you were just a few metres away from your home. 

If only I had walked slightly faster... Maybe it’s time to hit the gym.

Just then, from the corner of your eyes, you manage to catch flashes of black running past you, each shouting incoherent words. 

With the annoyance of being pushed out of the way so close to your home and seeing your groceries spilt all out on the road, you open your mouth to shout at the group of men when you finally grasp what one of the men was saying, causing your blood to run cold. 

“I think he ran into that alley! Quickly, fuck, we’ve got to finish him today or we won’t get another chance to!”

Finish..... him?

You stand rooted to the ground as the words continuously echo in your ears. There was going to be a murder happening in the alleyway seven metres away from you and you were going to be the only one who knows about it. 

The rational part of your brain was screaming at you to just walk straight ahead and into the safety of your home which meant that you were less likely to be murdered; but the other reckless part of your brain was tapping into the humane part of you, telling you that you would be as bad as the murderers if you left the poor soul alone without even trying to help. 

Damn you, rational part of my brain.

With your mind clearly made up, you walk slowly towards the alleyway, gripping your grocery bags tightly so that the plastic does not create any rustling noises that would give away your unwanted presence. Sticking out your head as much as you could without being seen, you slowly take in the sight in front of you. 

There were four men—who very much resembled heavyweight champions— crowding around a shorter man, who fell short by a large margin in comparison to the other four. His blonde hair blending in effortlessly with his pale skin, almost making it seem like he was emitting a glow in contrast to the dark alleyway. With the way you saw the four men cornering the smaller man, you knew that he stood no chance that night. 

At the sound of the men’s voices, your ears perk up, trying to catch as much as you could. 

“...Boss is going to be really happy...”

“...there is no way you can escape now since you’re alone...”

“... SKZ is about to lose their leader...”

Panic fills you once again as you realise that you were running out of time to help the blonde man. Unable to hear his response (”it was probably just him begging for mercy,”  you thought), you bravely—or some would say, dumbly—call out to the group in the alleyway, finally revealing yourself at the entrance, hands gripping the plastic bags.

“Hey!”

At the sound of your voice, five heads turn towards you almost simultaneously. If this was any other situation, you were sure you would have laughed out loud. But now that you knew the gravity of the situation, all you could do was gulp and pretend you were strong so that some miracle could happen and you could live to the ripe old age of 80 with the love of your life and five children. 

“What the fuck do you want?” 

Starting to freak out at the tone of one of the men, you curse yourself out in your head for not thinking of a proper plan before jumping in to save that man. Frantically, your hands search your jeans and jacket when you feel a bottle in the jacket that you didn’t bother to clear out before wearing it out for grocery shopping.

Pepper spray. 

Feeling braver almost instantaneously, you clear your throat and call out to the men loudly, making sure they couldn’t hear the distinct quiver in your voice. 

“Let the man go,” you say as loudly as you could, fists curling into balls to make sure no part of you gave away the fact that you were shaking on the spot. “Now.”

Unsurprisingly, you’re met with loud guffawing, the four men clearly thinking you were a joke. A pawn that could be destroyed with just one move.

And they weren’t wrong.

“Let the man go or what? What are you gonna do, little bitch? Go cry to mummy?” one thug asked, triggering another round of laughter from the other three. “Well now that you’re you’ve seen us, we’ll just have to take care of you after we’re done with this scum over here.”

As he says that, you see another thug pull out what looked a lot like a knife, the silver glimmering under the strong moonlight. All you had to do was turn on your heel and run out as fast as you could without looking back and you had a chance of surviving, but your feet were not cooperating. It was like all thought was wiped out from your brain—including the knowledge of how to coordinate your limbs to get you the fuck out of there. 

As the knife was passed to the thug holding the blonde man down, you instinctively rush forward, swinging your bags around in hopes of inflicting some kind of pain that will give the both of you some leeway to get out of that alley. 

The resounding sound of metal hitting a surface rings in your ear, followed by a loud “Ouch”, satisfying you as your planned seemed to be working. 

Dropping your groceries and grabbing the blonde man’s hand, your other free hand grabs the pepper spray out of your pocket, and you blindly spray it around in unnecessary amounts, running out of the alley with the man when you’re sure you’ve blinded at least one of the thugs. 

Dragging the man behind you, you run as fast you can towards your apartment, not sparing a second glance behind you in fear that the thugs would be there.

You fumble with your keys and practically jam the right one into the keyhole, throwing the door open and locking yourselves in. 

Hunching over in pain due to a nasty stitch you acquired from the sudden exercise, you finally get a good look at the blonde standing in front of you.

He wasn’t very tall—definitely average—albeit still taller than you. Some might have mistaken him for Snow White with how pale he was. He was wearing an all black outfit, causing his skin and hair to stand out a lot more than usual. 

With how much you were analysing him, you fail to notice the hard stare he was giving you.

“Are you stupid?” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. No heartfelt “thank you for saving my life”. None of that. Just him questioning the functionality of your brain. 

“Excuse me?!”

Stitch forgotten, you straighten your back while staring at the ungrateful idiot in front of you, mouth agape. You risked your life to save this asshole, and this is the gratitude you receive?

“I said what I said. I could’ve easily taken care of them and you ruined everything,” he deadpans, walking up and down your carpeted floor, massaging his temple. “Are you always this dumb, or did you just forget to drink your smart juice today? I mean, which dumbass just rushes into a dark alleyway without any help whatsoever?” 

“Hey, you better watch it!” you finally retort loudly. “Of course I didn’t stop to think, you were in fucking danger! Be grateful I even stepped in to try and help when I could have just walked away and let you take those 4 thugs by yourself. You wouldn’t even have stood a chance.”

He looks at you with flashing eyes right as you finish your angry speech; and you don’t have to try too hard to imagine the steam shooting out of his ears.

Just as he opens his mouth to fire another sarcastic comment, a series of loud bangs resound throughout your apartment. Your head shoots up towards your door, as the realisation dawns on you

Someone was trying to break down your door.

You rush over to the window and peek through the curtain and to your horror, you see the four thugs you had encountered—together with another four new men. They were back and definitely angrier than before.

“We’re gonna die!” you whisper-shout, shaking the man’s hand frantically as you look up at him. “I should’ve just left you in the alleyway.”

He rolls his eyes as he looks at you, pushing your hand off of him as he surveys your apartment.

“You go over and hide under that table over there.” he says, as he points to your desk that was tucked away far into the corner. “Don’t come out until I tell you to do so.”

You obediently nod and rush over to your table, wincing as you hear the door struggling to keep itself together, pieces of wood dropping onto your carpeted floor.  

It’s gonna cost me a bomb to fix that...

Quickly crouching under your table as far as you could, you watch as blondie (that’s what you decided to call him until you find out his name) opens the door for the eight men, smirk ever-present on his face.

Why is that idiot smirking?! He’s about to get killed and he’s smirking?

“Now, why don’t we skip the part where you yack till my ear bleeds and get on with the fight?” blondie asks, an air of confidence and pride surrounding him.

Without any warning three men rush towards him at the same time, flicking out knives and other weapons that you had never before seen in your life. Unable to watch the gruesome scene that was awaiting to happen, you shut your eyes tight, relying on your sense of hearing to alert you. 

You hear the clattering of knives, shortly followed by the sound of skin on bone contact, and finally, you hear the thud of human bodies hitting your floor. 

Without opening your eyes, you hear the sound of feet walking towards you, causing you to push yourself against the wall, hoping the thugs don’t find you under the table. You weren’t the best at handling pain, and you definitely didn’t want to know what was going to happen if they catch you. 

Instead of rough hands pulling you out from your hiding place as you had expected, you are met with soft hands grabbing your wrist, slowly pulling you out of your hiding place. You finally open your eyes, and you’re shocked by the scene that met you.

All eight thugs were laying on the ground, some groaning in pain, while some were deadly still. You really didn’t want to know what had happened to those who weren’t moving. 

“I told you I could handle it.”

Your eyes snap up towards the man beside you, your perspective of him completely changing as you view him in a different light. 

He no longer looked like a man who needed saving in your eyes. Instead, you could sense an aura of danger surrounding him. You imagine him sitting at the top of the throne, crown high on his head, as he ordered people left and right. Suddenly, you’re not sure who the most dangerous man standing in the room was anymore. 

“W-who are you?” you finally manage to stutter out, unconsciously taking a few steps away from him, wanting to put more distance between the both of you.

“I’m the man that just saved your life, so some gratitude would be nice,” he taunts, hinting at your earlier conversation. “My name is Bang Chan, and I am also the leader of the most sought after gang, SKZ. But you can call me Chan.”

Taking in as much as you could from that few words he had just uttered, the last thing you remember is whispering an “oh my God”, before falling to the ground, your surroundings turning black. 

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ •• ✼

You wake up to the sound of whispering all around you, your eyes squinting because of the bright light situated right above you. You whine out loud— annoyed that your rest had been interrupted by the constant whispering— abruptly being met with silence.

Raising your head slowly, you look around the place, expecting to be met with your blue curtains drawn fully, and your cluttered vanity, but instead you’re met with deep red curtains and nine people staring down at you; seven very unfamiliar and curious faces, and two familiar and worried faces. 

As your brain registers the two familiar faces in front of you, you sit up quickly, dread filling you as memories of what happened before you passed out comes rushing in. 

Just then, you realise who that one familiar face belonged to.

“They kidnapped you too?!” you scream at your college friend, immediately rushing over to him and pulling him away from the rest of them. “Are you hurt?”

As you are busy running your eyes over him, Changbin shifts around uncomfortably, trying to think of ways to break the news to you. 

“U-uh Y/n... They didn’t kidnap me,” he starts, catching your attention. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, waiting for him to then explain what the fuck he was doing there if he wasn’t kidnapped like you were. “I’m part of the gang, Y/n. I’m part of SKZ.”

[waytooattuned]

Instinct

Book: The Elementalists *sobs*

Pairing: Griffin X MC (Nelle)

Rating: NSFW (please do not read if underage)

Summary: Determined to learn a new Thief-related spell, Nelle and Griffin head alone into the woods to train. As the sun sets, their struggles bring them closer than they’ve ever been.

Disclaimer: These characters (except the MC, Nelle) are owned by Pixelberry Studios

Word Count: 2792

Tag list: @griffiinlangley @questionablespecies @bi-choice@griffinshoodie@drakelangley @emomoustache @queen-beanzzz@acoustickitten @cherry-strings @judediangelo75 @fan-of-all-trades @griffinsboyfriend @frugalchoicer@the-everlasting-dream

Author note: I know we’re all still shocked and saddened by the main TE series ending so suddenly. I started this fic long before we got the news and I hope it fills a void for some of y’all. Finishing it certainly helped me.

This fic starts out very very very magick heavy (and laced with a tiny bit of angst), gets crazy smutty as time goes on, and ends in the fluffiest way imaginable. Enjoy!

(I hope you guys don’t mind me using my tag list from my first fic)

And an enormous thank you to the illustrious @mellorax for GORGEOUS work of art!! You brought my fic to life and I’m so so grateful <3

Griffin and Nelle stand across from one another in a clearing deep within the Penderghast woods in the early evening, panting, gazing at one another.

The slowly setting sun’s rays peak through the trees as they both try to ignore the tension between them and focus on the task at hand. But their eyes wander, and they each take in each other’s bodies, draped in black and gold, pulsing with adrenaline.

After a third failed attempt, Nelle wavers.

“I’ll never get this, Griff. Let’s just call it a night.” she utters through a sigh, defeated.

“Nelle, I’ve seen you blow up a dozen shadow monsters by yourself,” Griffin chuckles, “it’s basically impossible for you to not master this spell.”

And what a spell it was. During the Thief semi-finals just hours ago, Nelle watched in awe as Griffin plunged his hands into the ground to create a solid platform of earth beneath him that grew upwards high and fast enough for him to deftly snatch the flag off an air-attuned opponent’s belt as they soared above the treetops. Amazed, Nelle cornered her teammate after the final buzzer and demanded that he teach her how to do it.

Now, though her muscles ached with regret, Griffin’s steadfast belief in her compelled her to do everything she could to not let him down.

“…fine,” Nelle breathes through a rueful smile, “let’s try this again.”

“Alright,” Griffin says immediately, back in future-Captain mode. “Remember, plant your front foot firm on the ground and bend your back leg to crouch low, reach down into the dirt while pulling your magick up inside you, then let it rise from the top of you. The higher above your head you’re able to pull your magick, the higher the roots will propel you. And don’t forget that once you start to rise, plant your back foot and stand with both knees bent to steady yourself. That’s the key.”

Nelle stands slowly and centers herself.

“I’ve got this” she mutters over and over again, struggling through body aches from the game and previous attempts, trying to convince herself.

She follows Griffin’s instructions to the letter, voicing the steps in her mind, plunging herself into the same deep self-reflection that makes it easy to access her sun-magick, sure that this technique works just as well with earth. As she stoops and forces her hands into the dirt, her inner voice gently encourages her. Her confidence surges when she pulls her magick and body upward and feels the ground elevate, her platform of earth shaky but stable enough to lift her. The platform climbs higher than all her last attempts and her mind races with excitement, still chanting to herself, I’ve got this, reaching into her own energy, straining desperately to make it above the treetops. 

But in all her concentration she keeps herself crouched on the mass of rumbling earth, more concerned with climbing higher than steadying her own body. Missing this vital step causes the soil to loosen beneath her. She plummets, her back foot slamming into a tree branch on her descent. She watches the platform crumble under her in slow motion, dirt and roots raining down as she falls. She hastily gathers her air magick in a cocoon that wraps her in a gentle breeze and glides her downward, almost back to where she started. Her foot sears with pain. She hovers slightly above the ground, trying not to touch down and put pressure on the injury.

Griffin sees the disappointment in Nelle’s eyes and meets her where she floats, wrapping her in a warm embrace while letting her body hang, her face much more level with his own than usual.

He kisses her forehead and lays her down gently on a patch of soft grass, then lays beside her wordlessly, staring up at the setting sun.

Frustrated, Nelle finally breaks the silence. “Listen, I’ve been thinking about what Professor Englund said on the first day of class,” she huffs. “Some elements compliment a person’s attunements and some work against them.”

“So?” he asks absent-mindedly, already brainstorming ways to heal her so she can try again.

“So before Kontos figured out my sun attunement, the first magick he sensed in me was air, Griff. Earth’s polar opposite on the elemental scale.”

“What are you saying, Nelle?”

“I’m saying…I’m saying maybe earth magick is just too unattainable for me. Too different from what comes naturally.”

“You think you should give up.”

“No, it’s not that! Maybe,” her words grow quieter, “Maybe I shouldn’t fight it, is all.”

“Nelle, look at me.”

Recognizing the tone of his voice, she obliges. She groans under her breath and positions herself gingerly on her side to face him, in pain but already enraptured by her own expectations. The determination in his voice was familiar; this was the voice he used to address the whole team right before every Thief game, one that oozed such conviction and strength that those feelings seeped into the consciences of every teammate. He had a way of making them feel like champions before the first buzzer even sounded.

“I know we’ve talked about this a hundred times, but I still feel like you don’t get it yet. When I pulled you out of that lake all those months ago, something in my magick shifted,” Griffin started.

Nelle knew where this was headed, and she desperately wanted to change course. She’d say anything to steer away from the ‘You are the chosen one’ conversation she’d heard from far too many attuned; a conversation that she’d never admit filled her with just as much dread as it did pride. She quickly mulled over how to turn the tide of this pep talk, and when she spotted the way his eyes briefly flitted to her lips, she knew just how to distract him.

“You sure it wasn’t because I was cute and soaking wet?” she teases with a sly grin.

Griffin clears his throat, flustered, “Uh, that might have been part of it.”

He shakes his head and tries to laugh off his intrigue at Nelle’s sudden flirting, but lands on a shy smile instead. He rubs the back of his neck and explains, “It wasn’t just my magick that shifted; everyone’s at this school did, hell—maybe everyone who can do magick at all.”

Nelle rolls her eyes and starts to speak.

“I know, scoff all you want, but it’s true, we all felt it. Students, professors, everyone. Potential radiates off you, Nelle. I think the only limitations someone like you has are the ones that are in here,” he says, reaching over to tap her head.

She only nods, allowing him to continue, deciding to give in to his conviction, letting it wash over her.

Griffin inches closer and plants a soft kiss on her lips, ignoring the dirt on her face. He lingers there for a moment, hoping she can feel just how much faith he has in her. He refuses to let her give up.

“All I’m hearing from you is what makes our attunements different.” He says, still close enough to feel her breath on his lips.  “What do they all have in common?”

“They all stem from our emotions.”

“Exactly,” Griffin explains, on a roll. “You told me before that the psychic ability you get from your sun-magick only works through inner reflection.”

“My prescience? Yeah, it’s like instant meditation, almost.” Nelle replies, hanging on his every word.

“Right. Earth magick’s kinda similar, but it comes from somewhere—uh—slightly different.” He says, averting his gaze.

“What do you mean?”

Griffin pauses, carefully choosing the right words, “You have to do a lot of deep soul-searching to be able to do advanced sun magick. But to do advanced earth magick, it’s the exact opposite. You grab hold of the first, strongest emotion you feel in a moment, then you push that energy into the earth around you. It sounds nuts, I know, but do you see what I mean? Earth magick isn’t about searching for a feeling, it’s about—”

“Instinct.” Says Nelle, eyes suddenly piercing through his. It’s clicked. She understands.

She springs up from her place next to Griffin, ignoring the aching in her foot.

“Wait, what about your—”

She shoots him a look so fierce he stops midsentence. Griffin’s lips curl into a knowing smile as he stands and backs away, eyes fixed on her, granting her the space she needs for what he knows comes next. Whether she succeeds or not, he’s already proud.

Without another word, he watches as she bends and burrows her hands into the soil.

Nelle stares intently at him and latches on to the feeling she gets from the gleam in his eye; that unwavering faith of his is all she needs. She continues to push her hands deeper into the dirt as she pulls her magick up within herself. No internal monologues this time. Just instinct. She stands slowly from her crouched position, lifting her magick with her. The ground responds and hardens into a sturdy platform of roots and soil beneath her. She pushes her energy up and above her head without a second thought, and the platform surges upwards.

She remembers to bend her knees slightly this time after she stands, steadying her limbs, letting her pride well up, oblivious to her injury. The mass of earth rises as her pride swells, and before she can stop to think about what comes next, she realizes she’s standing still, fixed in a battle-ready stance a full 30 feet above the treetops.

She hears rumbling and turns to see Griffin standing 10 feet beneath her on his own platform. He moves his hands and creates a staircase of earth from his mass to hers, and when he reaches her level, he merely stands, hands on his hips, beaming at her.

Not even his triumphant smile could keep her adrenaline from wearing off. The sting returns in her ankle all at once and she wilts. Griffin quickly spouts a spell to keep the platform standing tall as he shuffles forward to catch Nelle before she falls.

He repeats his loving gesture from before, setting her down gently in the middle of the earthy mass and sitting beside her, this time watching the last few rays of sun peak over the mountains in the distance. Nelle lays her head on his shoulder, and Griffin speaks.

“I’m no Aster, but…” he gingerly takes her ankle in both hands and mutters something under his breath. The pain nearly subsides, a small fraction of the agony she’d only just felt.

“Thank you,” Nelle sighed, unsure if she meant for the healing or for the incredible lesson he’d taught her. Before Griffin has a chance to reply, she continues, turning to face him.

“Down there” she says coolly, gesturing to the ground, “when we were talking about instincts, you got kinda nervous, I think.”

“I was nervous,” he smiles and admits, not taking his eyes off the view. “I still am.”

“Why?” Nelle probes coyly. A quick glance down at his shorts gives her her answer.

Griffin bites his lower lip. Screw it, he thinks to himself.

“What do you think my instincts tell me when I’m near you, Nelle?”

She follows her own, and gathers his gold jersey into her fist without another word. She roughly tugs his torso towards her, then leans in, rolling over on top of him to sink with him onto the floor of the platform. She parts her legs as she goes, pushing her hips into his, and presses a searing kiss to his lips that ends in a long deliberate bite.

He gives in immediately, blurting out a clumsy inquiry for permission before pulling her jersey haphazardly off her body, quickly discards his own, then pulls her to his chest, absolutely desperate to feel her skin on his. They both giggle as he struggles with her sports bra, and she rocks into him again as she helps him remove it.

In less than a second his mouth is on her chest, lips closed around her nipple, sucking and exploring. His hands roam down and find their way to the waistband of her shorts, and he slides them underneath, pinching at the ass she knew she saw him admiring during the game.

She braces herself for him to squeeze, but instead he moves his hands slightly upward and pulls the waistband down, exposing her ass above him. He slaps it, hard, making her cry out before having a realization.

“You don’t wear panties under your game shorts?” he asks as he sucks in a breath.

“mmmm, it’s bad enough I have to wear a bra. I don’t like being restricted.” She replies, loving that they’ll always share the secret of her bare underneath her uniform.

Watching him squirm beneath her at this revelation she reaches her hands into his shorts. He bucks as she takes him into her hand, moving deliciously slow and drawing out groan from him as he buries his head into her neck, his breath pulsing erratically at her collarbone.

He can’t take it anymore. With his hands still on her ass he pulls her shorts down her legs, leaving her totally bare on top of him. He immediately reaches between her legs and moves one finger gently up her folds before opening them to swirl it around her sensitive nub.

“Ooooohhhh” she moans, pleasure building.

Encouraged by her cries he plunges a finger inside, feeling her grow slicker every second. Before he can fully appreciate his work, she pries herself off him and pulls down his shorts.

Knowing she’s finally ready enough to take him in, she wastes no time, sinking herself onto him, allowing him to fill her with her hands planted firmly on his muscled chest for purchase.

“Nelle, oh my god” he groans. It’s so sudden and so damn good he could let go right then and there, but feeling determined to make her reach this height with him, he grabs hold of her hips and moves with her, helping her find a rhythm.

They push into one another with more force than they’ve ever used. Their movements are wild but deliberate, with him guiding her hips right where he needed them and her rocking him so deep inside her that he never wants to leave.

Nelle throws her head back, eyes rolling up to the newly emerging stars above her, letting this feeling course through her veins, mesmerized by the pleasure of it all.

She lowers her torso onto his as she continues to move. He responds to the welcome pressure of her chest on his by slowing down to push himself even further into her. Overwhelmed, she digs her hands into the earth for balance. Griffin lets out a grunt so deep it feels feral. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her tight to him as he begins to lose control.

His sudden urgency pushes Nelle over the edge, and she cries out so loud that it fills the sky with echoes. Intoxicated by the way she screams and pulses around him, he finally allows himself to let go, moving recklessly and spilling himself inside her with a final rasping groan.

They kiss feverishly while coming down off their respective highs, not ready to disconnect, barely stopping to breathe. Then they push apart gently before positioning themselves with their legs intertwined, holding one another close, taking time to gaze up at the stars and down at each other, panting again, for a much different reason than before.

When they finally have their fill of the stars, they decide to leave their platforms of earth formed as a reminder of what they were capable of. They kiss again before they retrieve the uniforms that had miraculously not fallen over the edge and reluctantly pull them back on. Nelle stands on her tip toes and maneuvers her hands around Griffin’s neck, forming another cocoon of air around them both. Hugging him, she floats them down slowly, taking in his earthy smell, and basking in this most surreal of moments.

When they finally touch down, Nelle snorts with laughter.

“I can’t believe we did that!” she giggles, absolutely giddy.

Griffin shrugs, “I can.”

She had been referring to their intimate moment, but she knew he wasn’t.

“I knew you could do it.” He says with a quiet resoluteness, eyes fixed softly on hers.

Overwhelmed again, Nelle doesn’t speak, only snakes her arm around his waist. He does the same and they walk lazily back to campus in loving silence, still holding one another, content and full of pride.

[harryandmolly]

i could write it better than you ever felt it - nine

A/N: quick fun fact -- the Cleveland storm did happen on the 2007 tour. there’s footage on YouTube of the backdrop getting ripped off by the wind if you’re interested. #research

summary: fuck growing up. this is freedom, this is life, this is youth – 2007 Warped Tour style.

warnings: Language, avoidance tactics, Catholic guilt

word count: 5.9k

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Shawn stirs, rolling onto his stomach. He lifts his pillow over his head.

Tap. Tap.

He sniffs and sighs. His pillow smells awful.

Tap. Tap.

He makes a snorting sound as he sits up to investigate. The van is hot and sticky, so the windows are fogged. He blinks slowly, acclimating to his awakeness.

The tapping sound seems to have stopped for the moment. Instead it’s replaced by a slender shadow leaning into the window for a peek. Shawn’s heart stutters. He sits forward on his bench to slide the van door open.

In a blast of muggy air and the familiar scent of citrus, Val is there, holding a pebble in one hand and a soccer ball in the other, looking apologetic.

“Can we talk?”

She waits for him patiently as he changes into shorts and sneakers, keeping her eyes low and her shoulders hunched. She spent most of the evening trying to wrangle either Bea or Raf to determine what exactly was said to Shawn -- it was Bea that finally cracked.

“You should talk to him,” Bea suggested breathlessly, laying a hand over Val’s. She was off in a hurry then, headed for her bunk to strategize so she could be ready when they arrived at the next stop.

She and Shawn walk in silence through the grounds in St. Petersburg, where they arrived caravan-style three hours ago. Shawn glances at the dim numbers on his tiny phone screen. It’s 2:14am. His heart sinks, remembering she can’t sleep without him.

“Cute stunt you pulled, with the pebble,” he mentions as they come up on a patch of grass under a street light, giving them enough illumination to kick the ball around.

Val swallows and attempts a shaky smile. “I figured I had to tread carefully after this morning.”

Shawn clears his throat and glances down at the scorched grass beneath them. He turns, hearing the thump of the ball hitting the ground.

“One on one?” she proposes, tossing her phone aside as she tips the ball in his direction.

He just nods, stopping the ball with his foot and nodding toward a fire hydrant several yards away. “That’s the other goal line.”

She agrees silently and starts skipping backwards on her toes as he jogs toward her, dribbling easily like he plays all the time even though he doesn’t -- he’s mostly been watching her play recently.

They’re silent aside from their heavy breath for a few minutes, warming up, volleying back and forth. Neither of them seem all that interested in scoring on the other. Something about kicking the ball between them, jogging around, stealing the ball away and back and back again, it’s comforting. Hypnotic, almost.

Val is startled into tripping over her own feet a little when he speaks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His head is down -- he’s concentrating on trying to toe the ball away from her. She lets it go so he can turn and head for her goal line. She jogs after him, prepared to let him score. He stops on a dime and turns just ahead of the fire hydrant. She almost smacks into his chest.

Val swallows. “It’s not supposed to matter.”

Shawn shakes his head incredulously, huffing, “Not supposed to. But it does.”

Val’s eyes slide shut. There it is.

The thing they’ve been dancing around, eyes shut and fingers tangled, avoiding together. It does matter to them, what happens when tour ends. They like to imagine it won’t, that they can pry apart and not each feel like they’ve somehow left something with the other, that they can continue on into the fall as planned.

“It matters,” Shawn restates weakly, kicking the ball to her.

Val stops it and makes a break for his goal line back the other way, scurrying quickly, hearing her pulse in her ears until she realizes he’s not following her. With the ball underfoot, she stops and turns to see him in the same spot with his hands on his hips.

“I think a part of me thought if I didn’t tell you about Oxford, neither of us would have to care what it meant.”

Shawn’s head lifts. He wanders toward the center of their little makeshift pitch. She follows his lead, leaving the ball behind.

“You’re going back to school,” Shawn states.

Val chews on her lower lip before answering, “I got into a very competitive art conservation program. I’ll be there for four years for my doctorate.”

Shawn blinks and in the fraction of a second his eyes are closed, he sees her bundled in a scarf, wisps of her hair (he imagines she’d wear it curly over there) floating in the misty weather as she walks along the river in a pair of sturdy boots. He’s not sure how exactly, because he’s only ever seen her in skinny jeans or tiny shorts and her vast collection of Vans, but this image feels completely… right. It’s almost painfully obvious.

“Yeah,” he breathes, overwhelmed by it for a moment, “That seems right.”

Val’s eyebrows lift. She’s not sure what he means but decides not to question it.

Shawn looks back down at her feet as they anxiously scuff the fraying grass.

“So that’s why you left Streets the first time. You want to be a conservator?”

Val bobs her head. “I wasn’t set on that path yet but I knew I wanted to go to school. I was always a little more academically inclined than Raf was. And I knew this wasn’t for me, this… the touring, the crowds, this life. It feels like… like maybe all this belongs to an older version of me. I wanted to come out this summer to be sure. I probably shouldn’t have -- I think maybe I gave Raf some false hope.”

“He didn’t want you to leave,” Shawn infers.

“I mean, I’m sure that’s not a secret. I just don’t know if people realize how much that changed everything. I think I really broke his heart,” she whispers, her voice cracking subtly.

Shawn heaves a sigh, planting his hands on his hips, staring up at a cloudless, starless sky. Val follows his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she continues, “Because I should’ve known better than to start something I can’t finish.”

Shawn looks back down. Her nose twitches. The gentle breeze has her ponytail wrapping around her arm. She waits for him to react somehow.

With a single nod of his head, he turns away and heads back in the direction of the van. When he glances back, he watches the ponytail flick back and forth as Val dribbles the ball, practicing her footwork in silence.

+

There’s nothing like a hometown show.

Streets of Gold fans are out in droves. Raf wears a Colombian flag around all day like cape and speaks almost exclusively in Spanish, leaving Val in his wake to translate. On stage, he has the vim and vigor of a frontman on his first day of Warped Tour instead of one nearly a month deep in cold showers, dank, sweaty t-shirts and dirt. So, so much dirt.

When Raf is distracted like this, he’s easier to deal with. He doesn’t get on Val’s case, he doesn’t cling to Bea quite as heavily (and Val can tell because when he doesn’t, Bea bounces along after Val instead). Despite the events of the last 24 hours, things seem… normal.

Shawn studies from afar. Even he can’t resist the temptation of catching a Streets hometown show. Instead of watching the set with a hand in Val’s back pocket, singing what are often her own words back into her ear, he keeps a safe distance and plants himself by the Blessthefall merch booth, avoiding the prying gaze of Alex Gaskarth from a booth or two away.

Shawn thinks it’s probably good that Val and Raf are spending the evening with their family in Coconut Grove. If they were at the barbecue, Shawn might not be able to stop himself from doing something particularly stupid like walking up behind her, shrugging her into his arms and whispering that he’s heard from his mum that Oxford is beautiful and maybe she’d like a roommate?

Because the number of times he’s imagined that since he first heard the word “Oxford” tumble out of Rafael’s godforsaken mouth is… startling.

He’s doing the moody lead singer thing, perching on the bumper of the van with his acoustic and a notebook, staring at the sunset. The boys have largely left him alone today, sensing a disturbance in the force, and they’ve been distracted by their own success at having a record number of people crowd around the Smartpunk stage for them today.

They’re celebrating the way Shawn should be, getting wasted on the beach.

All except one.

Seth props himself up next to Shawn, lifting the notebook into his lap to keep from sitting on it, but he knows better than to flip through it or he’ll have a swallow-emblazoned fist aimed at his nuts. Shawn ignores him for as long as he possibly can but Seth will not be ignored, especially when he’s staring straight at him, unblinking.

“Yes?” Shawn sighs wearily, looking up from his bruised and battered guitar.

Seth lifts his eyebrows. “Start talking, dude.”

Shawn’s jaw goes tense for a moment. And then it falls open.

He tells Seth everything -- everything from Val and Bea and Raf, to Oxford, to the hotel night, to last night’s soccer date. It comes flying out of his mouth so easily in a way it wouldn’t when Shawn tried to sit and force it out in song. Seth listens to every word carefully, unflinchingly, taking it in.

Seth winces. “Yikes, dude. How long you been holding that in?”

Shawn nearly gasps for air at the end of his explanation. “Apparently too fucking long.”

Seth nods in agreement. “So… she’s leaving.”

A little piece of Shawn had hoped against hope that Seth would come out and say something inspiring like “love is love, it knows not of oceans or country borders, it can survive, follow your heart” or some bullshit. With his one weak statement, Shawn can see how it looks from the outside -- hopeless.

“She’s leaving,” Shawn breathes, annoyed with his visceral reaction, the tears in his eyes, for the girl he’s known for a month.

“This is so stupid,” Shawn chokes, pressing his palms against his eyes as he shakes his head, “It’s only been a few fucking weeks.”

“No it hasn’t,” Seth chuckles. That veil of wisdom that Seth lets cover his words sometimes is unfurled. Shawn looks over.

“It hasn’t only been weeks. C’mon. You’ve loved Valentina Moreno since you bought your first Streets album, flipped open the insert and saw her name as writing credit on every song. Man, you’ve been singing her words for years. You’ve loved her just as long.”

Shawn’s chest feels like it’s caving in. Seth has a way of saying things sometimes in just the right way, a way that really just gets him. Shawn suffers through another breath.

“Yeah,” he rasps, “I guess you’re right.”

Shawn chews on the inside of his pillowy lips and feels the heat of Seth’s gaze. He keeps his eyes down at his dusty Chucks, feeling the rhythm he was chasing down start to sing through his blood. He sniffs.

“I think what you have to decide now,” Seth begins, sighing like he’s weighed down by his own ever-present wisdom, “Is if you love her enough.”

+

Valentina stands outside St. Ezequiel Catholic Church in her mother’s pearls and an old pair of stilettos. She decided to walk the few blocks from her house to the church -- the suffering felt very Catholic.

She stalls. She glances down at her watch. Confession started 25 minutes ago, but she can’t get herself through the door. For one thing, Val hasn’t been inside a church since she was 12, the last time her grandparents visited from Bogota. She’s a little concerned she’ll burst into shameful flames the color of every one of the seven deadly sins.

But she needs to go in today. She’s been avoiding it. But today… there’s no more time.

You just have to go in. Just go inside, she reasons with herself, You can sit first and then when you’re ready, go into the confessional.

That’s enough motivation for now. She ascends the cement steps and walks inside. It’s dark and musty and the incense has her astral projecting back to the 90s which is just as unpleasant as it sounds. She dips her finger in the shell-shaped basin of holy water and makes the sign of the cross by memory, glancing around. For one thing, she’s over-fucking-dressed.

Woops. No swearing in church. Not even in your head, she scolds herself.

She gulps like a cartoon character and barely remembers to genuflect before she slides in to sit in a pew.

They haven’t changed the missals or the pamphlet designs. There’s something comforting in that. And also very Catholic.

Val chances a glance at the confessional. It looks empty on the parishioner side, but there’s a light behind the closed door where the priest sits.

Good, she thinks, he’s ready when I am.

Val eases down onto her knees and feels her pencil skirt protest. She wonders absently if the toes of her Jimmy Choos are scuffing on the brick floor. She winces and folds her hands, fighting to quiet her mind.

She looks up. Above the altar is an almost over-colorful mural of a Latino Christ overlooking the congregation, hovering above them with open arms, a quiet smile and pierced, bleeding hands. Val sighs.

“You poor bastard,” she breathes.

She closes her eyes. She recites the Hail Mary a couple times, then the Our Father, but she’s always liked the Hail Mary better. She had an affinity for Mary growing up.

She sucks on her top row of teeth and feels her eyes fill. Not anymore.

Five minutes pass. She calms herself down enough to wriggle to the confessional in her too-tight skirt. She closes the warped wooden door and sits.

“Hello, my child,” greets the priest in a thick Cuban accent.

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned,” Val chokes, “It’s been… many years since my last confession.”

The priest is silent. So is Val.

Apparently she’s silent for too long. He clears his throat to prompt her.

Val closes her eyes. She takes one long, slow, deep breath. She opens them.

She stands. She runs.

+

The Tour must roll on.

It’s their driver Hernan’s favorite thing to say when they hit a mid-tour rut, when the novelty is gone, when they feel sweaty no matter how many showers they take, when they’re all plotting to kill each other in their sleep.

And indeed it must go on. With radio silence from Shawn and an active avoidance of Bea and her brother, Val is left to focus on… her job.

She wakes up early every day and it’s easy because she doesn’t really sleep (not without him). She gets the booth set up by herself, unloads merch boxes with Greg and Naveen. She fields visits from the All Time Low boys, from Hayley and sometimes the NFG and Yellowcard guys. She checks out different sets, reminding herself why she’s here -- the kids.

The kids never disappoint her, not even when they’re brats waiting in line or throwing change at her so they can catch the next set or signing. She sees familiar faces, the kids that treat Warped Tour like summer camp, showing up every day in a new city to follow the high. She doesn’t really get that, but a version of her used to.

She loves them, though. She loves the way they scream lyrics instead of sing them, the way they wear all black in the dead of summer, the dreamy looks on their faces when they’re so caught up in a performance the mud beneath their feet, the hundreds of people squashing them don’t even matter. She envies that. She misses it.

The Tour rolls on to Cleveland on August 2nd. Less than a month remains and with each passing day, she becomes less and less convinced Shawn will talk to her again. He’s kept busy by the boys and by his ever growing fanbase. It seems every time she passes Smartpunk, there are more and more kids gathered, singing his words back to him, giving him everything he’s ever wanted. They’ve outgrown the stage threefold, but the tour is too tightly scheduled to move them, so their audience swallows up every merch tent and signing table in its radius.

It’s glorious.

So she doesn’t go anywhere near him.

+

There are whispers about bad weather rolling in, but as of set-up time in the morning, the sky is light and overcast, nonthreatening. Val preps the tent as usual and bounces on her toes behind the table as she hands out change and slings t-shirts. The air feels charged, filled with the kind of energy people look back on after a big day and realize it was a warning sign.

The storm hits, and it’s worse than expected.

Shawn is getting food when the wind and rain picks up. It comes on suddenly, the way these things often do. Before long, the services staff is ushering them inside and things start to feel a little more serious.

“There are so many kids out there,” Shawn mutters, shaking his head as he watches some run for cover and some hustle inside to hide out with the growing mass of people. Seth hops up on his tiptoes to look over Francis’s head. He swears in agreement.

There’s paper everywhere, flying around in little tornados, kicking up smashed plastic water bottles and fallen flip flops. Shawn winces when a tree branch comes down, narrowly missing a merch tent that’s fighting to stay pinned into the ground.

There’s a commotion behind them. Shawn, squashed between dozens of people now, is tall enough to look over some heads. He spots the Streets band and crew. All but one.

Raf somehow feels Shawn’s eyes and meets them frantically.

“Val was at the tent!” he cries over the chatter around them.

Seth watches Shawn take off like a shot, slicing through twenty or so people to get to the door, wrench it open, and sprint out. He flattens his lips into a firm smile and nods in understanding.

But Shawn is long gone. He crosses yards like feet, using the full length of his legs to charge toward where he spotted the Streets tent on the venue map this morning.

His mind is blank -- it ignores the messages his body screams. It doesn’t register the lashing of rain against his face or the sudden tearing and overuse of cold muscles in every inch of his body. It only barely registers the flipping merch table that he leaps over like Indiana fucking Jones because it would slow him down and he can’t slow down.

He rips up the hill past groups of teenagers huddled under trees and crouching behind sturdier merch tables. As he runs past the amphitheater housing the main stage, he hears a mixture of terrible screams and adrenaline-pumped cries of wonder as the backdrop for Alkaline Trio’s set tears away and slaps itself in the wind. He keeps going.

The problem is he can’t really see. As he nears what he thinks was the tent’s location, he slows to a jog, squinting into the sideways rain to try to make out lettering on what’s left of merch tables and tents. Just as he’s about to give up and make a run for her bus to see if she’s there, he spots her.

She’s kneeling beside her tent shoving the table skirt into an enormous plastic box. Her brow is furrowed, her hair is wild and swinging around her face. She looks entirely unbothered by the idea of her own safety, merely annoyed that the storm is interrupting her day.

Shawn’s heart squashes into his ribs like it’s trying to peek through them and see her for itself. He grunts and follows its direction, hurrying up to grab her arm.

She looks shocked to see him, which hurts a little but not enough to focus on right now. He tries to pull her to her feet but she stays put.

“What the fuck are you doing? We have to go!” he cries, barely audible over the howling wind.

Val opens her mouth and a crack of thunder covers her words, proving Shawn’s point. He pulls at her harder.

“This shit’s going to be ruined! I’m not afraid of rain, Shawn, I’m from Miami!” she yells back petulantly.

Shawn is half a heartbeat away from slinging her over his shoulder like a fireman and hauling her back to her bus himself but the weather beats him to the punch and gives them pebble sized hail to contend with.

“Dammit!” Val cries, finally relenting. She stands, hunched with her arms over her head and leads the way to her bus at a clip that could rival Shawn’s.

Shawn’s glad she knows where she’s going because he can’t see shit. He doesn’t see the bus until they’re almost on top of it and by that time, the hail has grown to the size of ping pong balls.

Val throws the door open and jumps inside, whirling around when Shawn slams it behind them. To his surprise, he has to catch her by the arms as she lurches toward it like she’s trying to leave again.

“Where’s my brother? Where’s my band?” she cries, ready to Wonder Woman herself to get to them. Shawn holds her fast.

“They’re all fine. They’re inside by the main gate. Your band and crew and mine. I saw them,” he pants, willing her to look from the door into his eyes. She does and softens.

“Jesus Christ,” Val breathes, sagging in his grasp, closing her eyes for a moment.

Shawn swallows and looks around. The bus is empty. He drops his hands from around her biceps and lifts his eyebrows.

“Not afraid of rain, Moreno?”

Her eyebrows pull in as she frowns at him and crosses her arms over her dripping t-shirt. “Well it was just fucking rain until you brought the hail with you.”

Shawn snorts. “Sure. I brought the hail. Like I’m fuckin’ Snow Miser.”

Val rolls her eyes and chuckles, dropping her arms. She plops onto the leather couch with a squelch and winces.

“Ew.”

Shawn grins and offers her a hand. “You’re gross.”

Val stands and waits for him to drop her hand. He doesn’t.

+

Val rifles through Raf’s stuff for passably clean sweats and a t-shirt for Shawn because the bus starts to feel really cold with the AC inside and the drop in temperature outside. They dry off and change, using the bathroom in turns, and regroup in the front lounge to watch the storm batter the bus.

“God, I hope no one gets hurt,” Val whispers, curling up against the arm of the sofa with her chin perched on the windowsill.

Shawn sits beside her, absently dropping a throw pillow over her bare feet because he knows they get cold.

“It looked like venue security had a pretty good handle on it. The amphitheater is mostly covered, too.”

Val nods, staring out the window. Shawn watches her long lashes lift and close, watches her fingers beat out a rhythm against the leather like every drummer he’s ever known. He watches as her hair starts to dry into curls against her back.

“I’ve missed you,” he hears himself say.

It gets her attention. Her warm, dry lips part. He licks his.

“Missed you too,” she replies.

Shawn reaches out with cold fingers and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Want to drive with me to Camden tonight?”

“Yes please.”

+

Shawn willfully ignores all the questioning looks he gets from his band and crew when Val arrives with a backpack and a kiss on his cheek for the overnight drive.

The storm stopped not too long after it started. A few people had minor injuries, but no one, tour members or tour-goers, was seriously hurt, and for that everyone was grateful. The rest of the afternoon was spent plucking tents out of trees and chasing down errant folding chairs. A lot of the kids stayed to help their favorite bands and crews clean up. It was kind of nice.

But the Tour must roll on.

They’re due in Camden, New Jersey tomorrow and it’s an eight hour drive. As it happens, it’s Shawn’s turn to make the overnight voyage. He sleeps through the barbecue in preparation so Val stashes some food for him and makes him a thermos full of coffee on her bus (the good Colombian Volcanica stuff).

As Val settles into the passenger seat passing out cold empanadas her mom sent her back to tour with after the Miami stop, Francis lingers by Shawn, watching him load the last merch box back into the trunk. Shawn ignores him as long as he can until Francis is basically stepping on his toes, he’s standing so close.

Shawn sighs and flicks his tongue at his lip ring. “What?”

“Nothing,” Francis insists.

“Fuck off,” Shawn grumbles.

“No, but really, she brought us snacks. What’s… going on?” Francis chuckles, his eyes going wide like he plans to absorb the gossip through them.

Shawn really hates that he doesn’t have an answer. He shrugs weakly, averting his eyes.

Francis shakes his head, claps Shawn on the shoulder. “Dude.”

He saunters away, settling into his van bench for the evening. Shawn sniffs, scuffs his shoe against the pavement and lifts a hand to straighten his backwards Leafs hat. He allows himself one deep sigh before tucking himself into the front seat beside her and starting the engine.

+

The I-76 is a long, quiet road this time of night. The boys have gone to sleep in the back in a chorus of snores and mid-sleep mumbles. Shawn keeps his eyes on the road and snacks on the empanadas she hid for him, groaning after every bite.

“These are so fucking good,” he mumbles, licking some spice off his lips before diving in for another. Val giggles.

“They’re the only reason I go home anymore,” she sighs.

Shawn glances over. “You’re not close with your parents?”

She shrugs. “Not particularly. I love them, they’ve given me everything I’ve ever needed and most of the things I’ve ever wanted, but when Raf and I started down this path, they couldn’t understand it. They’ve… never actually seen a Streets show.”

Shawn’s eyebrows lift and his jaw stills mid-chew. “Really?”

“Nope. They wanted it to be a phase we grew out of.”

Shawn swallows and refocuses on the road as they pass signs for Pittsburgh. “Well, they must be happy about Oxford then.”

Val picks at her cuticles. “They’re pleased.”

Shawn jams another half an empanada in his mouth. Val watches with a flat smile.

“What about your parents?” Val hums, looking for a pivot.

“They’re kinda psyched, actually,” he answers proudly, trying to tamp down a goofy smile at the thought of his family. He glances over for her reaction. If she’s disappointed to hear about the difference between her family and his, she doesn’t show it.

“They’ve been waiting for me to find this for a while,” he explains, “I bounced around between different bands, and it was never right. I felt like the only one taking it seriously. And then Seth and Francis found me through a friend. First day I sat down with them I think I knew it.”

Val smiles wistfully. “That’s a good feeling.”

“The best,” he agrees, “I wish everyone could feel that, whatever they’re doing. Everyone deserves that kind of… security, I guess. That they’re in the right place doing what they’re meant to do.”

Val sinks her teeth into her bottom lip thoughtfully, feeling like her heart is sliding sideways in her chest just to be closer to him. She settles her cheek against the headrest and turns to watch him.

He looks tired. His hair is frizzy and his eyes look a little cold and his muscles are tense. She wonders if he’s been getting as little sleep as she has.

“It’s a lot though,” she breathes.

Shawn’s lips twitch. “Yeah.”

It’s quiet for a few moments while Val collects her words.

“The first time we headlined a show larger than a basement was in Toronto, did you know that?”

Shawn looks surprised. Val grins at the memory.

“Raf threw up for about an hour straight before the start. It was the first stop of our tour after releasing Two Sides to Every Story. We were such a fucking wreck. I broke like three pairs of sticks I was playing so hard. We were all so, so desperate to keep these people in front of us, to make them love us. We needed them so bad. We didn’t actually figure out the secret for months, nearly at the end of the tour.”

Shawn blinks. “What secret?”

“That they’re not there to see you play harder than you’ve ever played, or sing better than you’ve ever sung. They already came to the gig for you, you already have them. They’re there to be with you, just for a night. They found you, they love you. You bring them hope every time you get up there and do what you do. You don’t need to do it any better. You’ve already helped.”

Shawn feels a well that’s been building since they released Joy Ride. It’s been filling and filling and he can’t find the bottom anymore. It’s a cloudy mixture of crippling fear, anxiety, adrenaline, pride, excitement and fucking exhaustion. Val shines a light straight through it.

He turns his head to find the warmth of her big brown eyes. Val remembers what the bottom looks like. She’s been there.

“What happens now?” he croaks.

“Now you stay on the ride. That’s all.”

Shawn lowers his eyes until he feels her fingers curl around his cheek. It warms under her hand before he turns his head to plant a kiss on her palm. He takes her hand in his and holds it in his lap for a few minutes until she speaks again.

“Made you something.”

He’s reluctant to let her hand go again because his blood pressure feels normal again when he’s touching her but he releases her to root around in the backpack at her feet.

She holds up a plastic CD case with a shy smile.

“Did you make me a mix?” he laughs with delight.

“Shush, this is what scene kids do when they feel things.”

Shawn giggles and goes pink all over, rubbing his free hand against his neck. When the first song begins, he looks over with a smile.

“Sugar We’re Goin’ Down. Subtle choice,” he jokes.

“Shhhh, it’s against my religion to talk while Patrick Stump sings.”

He looks over to see her eyes shut and lips spread in a grin. He laughs and bobs his head reverently.

Fifteen minutes in, Val’s asleep. He’s too curious to help it, so he checks the track listing she wrote out in her serial killer handwriting on the plastic on the back.

Sugar We’re Goin’ Down - Fall Out Boy

The Girl’s a Straight-Up Hustler - All Time Low

Only One - Yellowcard

Miami - Taking Back Sunday

On Top of the World - Boys Like Girls

The Future Freaks Me Out - Motion City Soundtrack

It’s Not Your Fault - New Found Glory

Punk Rock Princess - Something Corporate

Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off - Panic! At the Disco

Jump - Simple Plan

He sighs and puts the case in the center console, reaching over to leave his hand on her knee in case that helps her stay asleep longer. He mouths along with Ryan Key’s words, staring out the windshield.

There’s just no one that gets me like you do, you are my only, my only one.

+

Hayley stuffs her vibrant, telltale hair under her Streets beanie and snarls teasingly at Val’s laughter.

“You are so not getting away with this,” Val snorts, trailing beside her toward the Lucky 13 main stage to catch New Found Glory’s 4pm set, the highlight of the day.

“It’ll be fine,” Hayley insists, eyes shifting as the crowd around them thickens.

“You’ll be spotted in the next five minutes, I’d put money on it.”

Hayley scoffs. “Stop it. You said you wanted to come with me.”

“Yeah! Because you’re 5’2” and 100 pounds soaking wet. You need a fuckin’ bodyguard,” Val argues, slinging an arm around her petite friend.

“Chad… said I should come today,” Hayley mumbles.

Val’s eyes go wide. “Chad? Asked you to come watch the set?”

“Well… like… not exactly. He said I should come “check it out,” whatever the fuck that means.”

Val coos. “That is so sweet. I’m so glad I get to witness this. Can we go sidestage after so you can blush down at your feet and tell him he plays guitar real good?”

“Ok, we’re done talking about this now!” Hayley squeaks earnestly. Val pins her lips shut and mimes zipping them, sniggering through flared nostrils.

They filter in toward the back of the crowd that’s been planted at main stage all day. New Found Glory is one of the sets to catch on Warped -- full of relentless energy from a band that’s been around the block and knows how to put on a stunning show.

Val’s only caught them a few times over the course of Warped, and only from sidestage with Bea. Being in the crowd with the kids, screaming the words and passing sweaty crowdsurfing teenagers over her head is the real way to experience a pop punk show. So when Hayley invited her along, she leapt at the chance.

By some miracle, Hayley stays under the radar. She and Val bop along, dancing and singing and flinging their hands in the air and Val connects with a version of herself she hasn’t seen in a while, a girl that can name every Green Day song ever produced, a girl that lived every day just to get home and hit her drums, a girl for whom music changed everything.

She’s letting the final chords of Better Off Dead carry her off, tilting her head back, eyes closed and smiling at the sky when it starts.

“Hey!” Hayley calls from behind her, smashed up into her shoulder, “Val, I think--”

They didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. The yahoos surrounding them have drawn the crowd out, dragging people to face each other to leave space between them. Val recognizes a wall of death when she sees one. She grabs Hayley’s hand and yanks her, trying to drag them out from the line of fire, but they’re shoved back into place.

“Let us out!” she cries, feeling it build, feeling the energy of the morons pinning them in start to fizzle dangerously.

“Hayley!” Val shrieks, reaching out for her elbow for a sturdier grasp. She can’t get there, and the tension snaps. Teenagers sprint into each other at full speed, shoving and pushing and knocking into each other.

Val squints under some guy’s arm to see Hayley’s beanie get knocked off. The cocktail of red and orange dye is the last thing she sees before everything goes dark.

Help save the scene and buy me a ko-fi!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @stillinskislydia @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn​ @alone-in-madness​ @alone-in-madness @singanddreamanyway @accioalena @randi-eve @shawnitsmutual @embracehappy @itrocksmysocks @yslsaint @peacedolantwins2 @kitykatnumber

[thebifrostgiant]

If You Know Where to Look - Part 8 (1/2)

Summary: in which Loki hunts, and you listen. Thunder rumbles from a distance

Part 1 / Previous

Read on Ao3

Word Count: 2,423

Rating: T (for now)

Pairing: Loki/Reader

*

Chapter 8: A Crown’s No Cure

A week. Loki has a week until he’s meant to be married. And yet here he is, in the middle of a self-appointed task, a task that he sees the necessity of even if there were a fair many other things he’d envisioned himself spending this time doing. It seems he has elected to take a hunting trip after all — and wouldn’t Thor be quite chagrined that he had gone off without his brother or their companions — but rather than terrorizing some poor beast of the forest and bringing its head back as a trophy, he follows the cold trail of another wretched creature, seeking blood not for sport, but to satiate the burn for vengeance on a more personal matter.

He urges Fóthradr into a trot with a gentle prod of his heels into the palfrey’s dappled flanks, and ducks beneath the lowest hanging branches of a small alder as he scans the ground for any slight clue. The air is cool as it streams against his face, bringing with it the damp wash of a brewing storm and the scent of upturned leaves.

The trail is already faded and nearly imperceptible. A heavy downpour would sweep away any chance of following it altogether as barely-there spoors became slicks of mud and patches of faintly crumpled grass, telling of a stray footstep here and there, were whipped flat by the squall. But subtlety is Loki’s art, and it is not raining yet.

His eyes find traces where most others would not. A broken twig here, the smashed cap of a mushroom there. A winding track a hairsbreadth too wide to be used simply by deer. The trick, Loki has found, is not to come at it head on, for one often misses even the most obvious of signs when they are right in front of one’s face. Instead, he knows that it’s far better to approach things of this nature sideways, seeing without seeing, and he glances around from the corners of his eyes. Underlooking to avoid overlooking, catching the tiny details in a most delicate manner. And...

Ah. There.

In his left periphery, Loki can just barley make out the hazy glimmer of a dew trail, a slender pathway through the grass where the droplets have been wiped away by shuffling boots. Loki smiles. Thor may be the stronger hunter between them, able to take down large prey by sheer force, and Fandral the better shot with an arrow, but when it comes to tracking, to uncovering hidden passages and noticing the unnoticeable, it is Loki who is best.

He slings his leg over the bare back of his mount and drops gracefully to the forest floor, and goes to take the bit out of Fóthradr’s mouth and slides a halter over his nose, tying the rope to a sturdy branch and leaving plenty of slack for his horse to graze. He pats him twice on his freckled cheek and turns his oblique attention once more to the moisture-ridden earth, slipping through the forest on foot as he pursues his ravin.

***

When the door swings open with no warning, you have to jump back a bit to avoid being smacked with the heavy wood, and once you recover, you're met with the frowning face of a woman who is decidedly not pleased with either you or your response to nearly being knocked unconscious.

“Ah. You must be the little servant brat Loki mentioned,” she says coolly, as if you’re some insignificant child and not nearly of an age with her. You notice there is a slight accent to her discourteous tone that you vaguely recall is Vanir. Then she sneers, and somehow manages to look down at you even from the scant inch she has on your own height. “It certainly took you long enough, but I suppose if this was the best Asgard had to offer, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Her eyes flick to your scar and you suddenly wish she had hit you with the door. You feel cold, and your hand itches to cover your cheek, but you stand there, lips pressed together so hard they’ve lost color, trying not to feel so humiliated and waiting for some instruction. You hate this, you realizes with fervor, especially since Loki’s betrothed is every bit as awful as the prince himself, but you’d hate it as much even if she was as kind as Eir, because taking orders and being expected to comply to every demand of another is degrading, and when compared to your simple life on the farm, where all there was to worry about was plucking the worms off the cabbage plants and gathering fatwood for the winter and chopping apples so they could be dried and stored for the rest of the year, not even the ethereal glory of the palace is enough of a counterbalance.

“Well?” she says, brimful of impatience, after a long moment, still standing in the doorway

Oh. Evidently she expects you to enter, despite not inviting you forth, so you gently step around her into the room and she pulls the door shut with a snap behind you.

The room, or rather the suite of rooms that makes up her chambers, is larger than your whole home, with towering shelves crammed with tomes of all sorts, a bed big enough for four people stacked high with pillows and silk sheets, desks and wardrobes of carved wood inlaid with brushed silver and deep perse garnets, and curtains draped elegantly over floor length windows. It all makes you feel very small and paltry.

The woman moves across the floor to stand in front of a set of ornate mirrors bordered with floral designs in wrought brass, and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. You get the impression that she doesn’t particularly wish to have you speak to her, but should you ask? Perhaps you’re just expected to know, only you’ve never done anything like this before, and you have no idea what duties a servant of a princess is meant to oversee. You run your hands down the sides of your tunic, trying to get them to stop sweating as you continue to hesitate in the corner of the room. Her bright yellow eyes find yours through the glass of the mirror, leaving you exposed under the second-hand scrutiny.

“Are you going to help me get dressed or not? I don’t have all day.”

Right. Of course. You’re only just now realizing that she’s clothed only in a slip and there’s a splendid golden gown spread out before her, seeming to shimmer in the light, and yes, perhaps she would need an extra set of hands to manage getting it on properly. Right. You nod, and step forward to do just that. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

***

It’s almost too easy, Loki thinks as he spots the rising smoke above the trees and treks on silent feet to the campsite. Several old, patchy tents dot the clearing centered around a felled tree and a shoddy fire pit. It’s pitiable, almost, or would be if Loki were inclined to feel such things for these lowliest of people who would disgrace themselves as they had.

Loki watches for a moment, unseen amongst the trunks, as a handful of men and a young woman drift back and forth across the site, idly chatting, the men carrying buckets and roughly hewn hide packs, the woman mending the torn outsole of a boot with neat little stitches. They seem harmless enough, simple-minded, dirty peasants concentrated on survival, but Loki is a sensible man, and he puts no stock in depthless suppositions.

He steps forward and reveals himself.

Impressively, no one screams, but they do take off running. Mead and wash-water slosh everywhere as buckets are overturned, needle and thread and leather flying as they scramble like panicked deer in all directions.

“No, no. I don’t think so,” he chides, and all seven or eight of them freeze. He smirks. “You’ll be coming with me. You see, some of you” — he recognizes two of the men from their part in delivering the girl to him on that cur Einvald’s behest — “seem to have blood on your hands, and you will be punished for it, have no doubt, and the rest of you... well, you’ve been privy to such crimes and yet you’ve deliberately held your silence, so it would appear to me that you are guilty in equal measure. But your fate is not for me to decide, and so, an extemporaneous jaunt to the palace’s prison cells is in order. Come along, now, let’s not waste any more time.”

It’s hard not to feel smug as they all march like ducklings after him, but he knows he’s missing one, and it does put a damper on the taste of victory. It seems Einvald may be more wily than he’d first thought, slipping away from him like a weasel slinking from a falcon’s claws. But he will be back for the man, to ensure he is repaid tenfold for his insults. And, in spite of the imminent storm, Loki can hardly wait.

***

It can be that hard, you find out. Maybe if it weren’t the strange, Vanaheim style of dress with so many straps meant to be tied just so, and maybe if the one you were attempting to dress wasn’t so irascible and fidgety, and maybe if you had the first clue about any of this it wouldn’t be so bad. But you don’t, and by the time you’ve finally managed to get all the parts of the dress situated properly — and you have to admit it does look rather nice — your mistress is practically frothing as she grits her teeth, flared nostrils visible in the mirror as she lets out a furious breath. Clearly, your incompetence is a cause of great irritation to her, a fact that she lets you know in no uncertain — nor, really, construably polite — terms.

In fact, everything you do over the next few days is met with much the same reaction. It’s a steady stream of “What are you doing? No, not like that!” and “I said braid my hair, not turn it into a tangled wreck! Ouch, stop pulling!” and “Why isn’t my bath ready yet? The water’s too hot! Ugh, now it’s too cold!” and “Élivágar and Ginnungagap, girl! Can’t you do anything right?” without you being able to get a word in edgewise. It’s enough to give you a headache, and make you think that Prince Loki may actually deserve her.

You’ve been kept busy making the ridiculously lavish and comfortable bed in Ülle’s chambers, stoking the fire in the hearth to maintain the perfect temperature, drawing baths in the largest tub you have ever seen — complete with wonderfully fragrant and, you imagine, expensive oils and soaps — dressing Ülle, brushing and plaiting her hair — which is slippery and fine, and resists being done up in even the most simple of styles — picking up and putting away all the assorted things she leaves strewn about, retrieving this and that and the other thing from who even knows where, all on top of being expected to follow Ülle around wherever she goes as her personal attendant, which leaves precious little time to do all the other tasks, but you still have plenty of time to get yelled at, of course.

On the positive side, you’ve just about figured out all the turns to get to the kitchen and back, having made the trip several times a day to bring Ülle her breakfast and whatever else she requests, and you no longer fear getting lost in the palace. The bad news is the other servants don’t seem inclined to be friendly toward you, not that you go out of your way to encourage any interactions. You know they whisper about you when they think you can’t hear. Mostly they talk about your scar, predictably. No one seems to know how you got it, and there are several trails of gossip going around, some more wild than others.

But you do learn some things from their tales. Apparently you had been so limp and covered in blood when Prince Loki carried you in that you had looked dead, and the prince was so bloody and disheveled, with a somewhat frightening look on his face, that some had thought he had killed you. But since you are obviously still alive, that idea had been proven wrong, though most seem to think that Loki had, at least, given you the scar, and at most actually tried to kill you, and that you perhaps have other scars elsewhere on your body hidden beneath your clothing (which does in fact match that of the other servants). Still, there’s a theory that Loki hadn’t been the one to hurt you, but that he had rescued you in some daring fight against those who had hurt you and rushed you back to the palace to save your life. A bit closer, but still nowhere near the truth of it. On the tail end of that one was a particularly absurd rumor that you were the prince’s secret lover, although how that gained any credence you shudder to wonder.

Despite the high stress of it all, and the work you know you’ll have to make up later, the most interesting parts of your days are when you do accompany Ülle when she leaves her chambers, following at her heels like a trained dog and fetching whatever she demands, often loaded down and carrying assorted chattel that she couldn’t possibly be expected to carry herself as she strolls the palace gardens — extravagant, interwoven pathways with shady bowers covered in bright pink, orange, and blue-violet blooms, and creeping clusters of tiny white and yellow flowers that grow on trellis archways and smell wonderfully sweet, and thick, verdant grasses and shallow pools and clinging vines cascading from berry laden rowans and stooped, feathery willows as far as the eye can see — or the library — central to the palace, massive enough to get lost in, with low lighting provided by lanterns and warmed by cozy little fires lit in corners meant for reading comfortably, with wooden tables and long chairs upholstered in velvet, the scent of thousands of books’ worth of parchment and leather permeating every crevice — or several other various and grand locations throughout the residence of the Allfather and his progeny.

(2/2)

[whatever-the-fucky-i-writes]

Shadows Dance - Part 1

Word Count: 1,564

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Death, Mentions of torture, Blood, Swearing, One mention of drug use

Part 2   Part 3   Part 4 (Final)

Series Masterlist

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters from the MCU.

Tags: @beccaanne814   @winterbvrnes

Author’s Note: AND HERE WE ARE! The original reason for making this darn blog! [Cue Thomas Sanders Voice] Story Time! So the amazing winterbvrnes was having a writing challenge and I had been toying with the idea of actually writing something rather than just creating stories in my head that will never have the honor of meeting the lovely Ms Paper. The basic premise was that you take a line from a song, book, poem, whatever you want and write a story about it. I decided to go for it, choosing the line “Sometimes goodbye's the only way. And the Sun will set for you." from the song Shadow of the Day by Linkin Park (a song that I may or may not have listened to on repeat while writing this whole thing). And even though they ended up taking down the challenge and later leaving Tumblr, I decided to still write this story. And so ten months later, my first (on purpose) fanfic is finally done. Infinity War wasn’t out when I started writing this so there’s no spoilers or anything from that movie in here. I’ve split it up into four parts and I’m going to try and exercise what little patience I have and try to not post them all in one go. Part two will probably be up within the next few days.

And I just want to give special thanks to beccaanne814. I am so thankful that she decided to read this, and her kind words and support gave me the extra boost I needed to actually put this out into the world. If you don’t already know of her, you should totally go check her out; her writing’s amazeballs!

So without further ado, here is my Bucky x Reader series, Shadows Dance.

        You had joined the Avengers a few years ago. After Steve’s half of the Avengers had fled, Tony had started to compile a list of special individuals whom he believed had the makings of potential recruits. However, that wasn’t the reason you were recruited. Were you on the list? Yes, your exemplary background as an ex-Marine and the fact that you were pretty dang smart ensured that, and having powers didn’t hurt either. No, the reason you were recruited was that you actually saved a few Avenger butts when they found themselves in a sticky situation at a Hydra base that you had infiltrated while working with Nick Fury in Europe. And after you’d finished saving their asses, you just had to come back to the compound for celebratory drinks. And, after Tony talked it over with you and Fury, you all decided it would be beneficial if you stayed.

        And after a brief adjustment period, you began to fit right in. You could keep up with Tony and Bruce’s scientific ramblings so you would often find yourself wandering down to the lab on restless nights to keep Tony company and provide second (or third) opinions on whatever gizmo or gadget he was working on. Your main sparring opponents were Nat and Steve, but you would also face Clint and Sam to shake things up sometimes. All in all, you got on well with everyone on the team, aside from Bucky. He wasn’t that good with new people yet so your interactions were often spent in silence, or very near to it. That’s not to say you avoided him, you could often be found watching TV in the main room together, but you didn’t push him to talk to you; you figured that when he felt comfortable enough, he would talk. And about half a year later, talk he did. After you got over what felt akin to shock at his first attempt at initiating conversation with you, you would talk about anything and everything. You two were like peas in a pod and he became your best friend (but you’d never tell Tony that — his fake offense would be unbearable.) Your room was just down the hall from Bucky’s so you’d often find yourself comforting him after nightmares, and he found himself doing the same for you. And on the weekends when you guys weren’t running missions, you’d often have movie or TV show marathons in each others room. And that’s how things were for the next year and half-ish. 

        However, after Bucky and the sweet art student (she had to be the nicest human being you had met outside of the Avengers) broke up, you became very conflicted. You felt bad because your best friend was hurting and you only wanted him to be happy, but you also felt… relief? And that’s how you realized that what had once been platonic, for you at least, had become romantic. But your friendship with him meant the world to you so you kept your feelings a secret so as to not jeopardize that. You didn’t want to fuck it all up by revealing your feelings and having him not reciprocate which would lead to inevitable awkwardness. So you resolved to only be there for Bucky in his time of need and to simply stay his friend. 

Two Years Later...

         You had a bad feeling about this. The rest of the Avengers were out on other missions, leaving you and Bucky to respond to a tip from somewhere in eastern Europe. Some stoner had been wandering through the woods after some… recreational activities when they had seen “strange military-looking trucks” heading further into the woods. Now, normally people wouldn’t give too much credence to what the high youngster had said, but the area they described was home to a known, although thought to be abandoned, Hydra base. You two had quickly loaded up the Quinjet with all the necessary supplies and your suits and taken off. Bucky locked in the auto-pilot sequence and turned around. You tossed him his suit with a nod of your head as you both turned around and got dressed.

        “You good?” he asked as you propped your foot up on a seat and hunched over to begin to lace the tac boot up.

        “You can turn around,” you responded. Finishing with that a few moments later, you straightened out, almost feeling a sense of comfort in your suit. Your ensemble consisted of black tac boots and pants, not unlike Bucky’s, and a long-sleeved black spandex shirt underneath a bulletproof vest. Nat had tried to convince you to wear a catsuit once, but you only got as far as putting one on and deciding it was definitely not for you. It clung in all the wrong places and you could just feel the major wedgie waiting to happen.

        Well, turns out you had pretty great intuition because, wouldn’t ya know, your bad feeling had meant something. It meant that you and Bucky had been dumbasses for going in alone. Your intel and surveillance had grossly underestimated the total population and size of the base. It was supposed to be mostly abandoned, intel telling you that there was nothing more than a ghost crew present, just enough to keep it running. And Bucky’s reconn indicated that those numbers should have been right. It was supposed to be relatively small, a few hallways, a few rooms, a lab or two with a central control/security room, nothing major. Instead, you got a sprawling, underground maze of hallways that all looked the same and countless rooms with iron doors with as many agents as you could possibly squeeze into the place. Screw base, this was a stronghold. And you and Bucky had gone in with a carefully laid plan that had fallen into pieces when confronted with their overwhelming numbers. Needless to say, the two of you were captured, and, recognizing who Bucky was and inferring who you must be, they decided to hold off on killing you until you answered a few of their questions while strapped to some pretty sturdy-ass, cold, metal chairs.

        Day and night bled together, the lines between dream and reality, waking and unconsciousness were blurred by ever-present pain. After, oh gosh you didn’t even know how long it had been… you decided to call it a long while, a rookie guard had made the mistake of standing too close to you while overseeing one of Bucky’s sessions. The guard had turned as Bucky passed out, his head slumped forward onto his chest. ‘Sick fucker,’ you thought, ‘wanting to get a better view of someone else’s torture. What would your momma say?’ 

        But lucky for you, his desire to get a better view left the side of his leg exposed to you, allowing you to see the knife he kept strapped there. You quickly formulated a plan, knowing you had to act before the guard turned his back towards you completely. So even though the angle wasn’t quite ideal, you reeled back and with all your might head-butted the guard right in his balls. As your chair began to fall forward, you twisted it so that your hand brushed his leg, allowing you just enough to time to snatch the knife out of its holster without him noticing. While he was caught up in his pain, you slid the knife underneath your arm, trapping it between your forearm and the arm of the chair. Just as you finished, the torturer, who had quickly strode over from where Bucky was strapped to his chair with a malicious glint in her eyes, was picking your chair back up, slamming it back onto all four legs. Your eyes met those of the guard, who was looking at you with enough vitriol that you almost felt insulted. It wasn’t your fault they had lousy spacial awareness. The contact was cut swiftly as you experienced a different kind of contact. Namely that between a fist and your face. You could taste blood as your head snapped violently to the side. Waiting until your vision stopped swimming, you wearily turned your head back, already able to feel a nasty bruise forming thanks to a probably fractured cheekbone. Man, that lady had one hell of a right hook. 

        And that was only the beginning. The pummeling that followed was nothing short of absolutely brutal. As she left the room, leaving you and Bucky alone in the room you were being contained in, the guard was forced to reassume his position outside the door. You lingered on the edge of passing out, whether it was from pain or exhaustion, you didn’t know. But you knew you had to stay awake. And, though you dreaded what would happen if this next step went wrong, you knew you had to get someone to come back in there. The only way out was through a door that opened from the outside, a buzzer letting the guard outside know when someone wanted to be let out. So in order to get out, you needed someone else to come in. You managed to maneuver the knife out from under your arm and made quick work of the ropes that were holding you in place. ‘Time to go to work,’ you thought as you swallowed heavily, preparing yourself mentally for what was to come.

To Be Continued...

[fancymuffinparty]

Prelude

Rating: T; for language and suggestive material.

Pairing: Levi x Mikasa, RivaMika

Summary:  Written for the fifth RivaMika Jam! The story of how an aspiring musician meets and falls for his muse. My partner was @zerolr and my prompt was: “Mikasa is an ordinary person working at a grocery/supermarket store and Levi is a famous musician/actor. He sees her and finds himself attracted/interested in her. So while she checks out his purchase, Levi leaves her his phone number.” I kinda deviated a little from the original premise, but I hope it still turned out okay! :) This was fun to work with and I’m glad I signed up this time around!

Word Count: 3873 (a little long lol oops)

Music is one of many ways people are able to express themselves.

Soft, slow melodies from jazz or classical styles evoke calmness and serenity. Heavier themes can be conveyed through powerhouse ballads of the rock n’ roll variety. Regardless of the genre, there’s almost always a message or meaning to these intricate works of art, crafted from some sort of stimulus.

Some musicians draw inspiration from everyday life and personal experience, travelling and exploring new sights, or through the release of pent up emotions; a coping mechanism for dealing with hardships and complexities of this cruel yet beautiful world.

Aspiring musician Levi Ackerman fears he’s lost any and all inspiration. He has talent, that much is true. However, he recognizes that plenty of other ‘up-and-comers’ and ‘desperate hopefuls’ have talent. His music has hit a plateau, unsure where to take his current career aspirations or how exactly to get where he wants to be. He yearns for a stimulating experience; something to pull him out of this awful rut and set him apart from others in the highly competitive and cut-throat industry, riddled with unoriginal material and blatant narcissism.

Enter Mikasa, and the spark comes back.

She’s a quiet, reserved cashier at a small grocery store he frequents on a weekly basis. Always calm, smiles politely to every customer, and tends the same checkout stand every time.

Every other week-night. From six to midnight. Like clockwork.

Levi’s newfound muse is exactly what he needs as a source of inspiration.

It just so happens that he’s conveniently run out of a few basic necessities, prompting a trip to the grocery store on an unseasonably warm Thursday night.

Before long, he’s face to face with her, setting his gathered items on the counter in a meticulously neat array.

As Mikasa begins ringing up his purchase, she can’t help but engage in harmless conversation.

“That’s… a lot of cleaning supplies.” She suppresses a small chuckle, swiping the items along the scanner to a steady rhythm of beeps.

Levi, the ultimate clean-freak, feels no shame in what he considers a redeemable quality. He also seeks to use the situation as a means for something a bit more meaningful.

“My roommates,” he explains, “can be a handful.” That’s one way to put it.

“I can definitely relate,” Mikasa drawls, nodding her head. “Take on most of the responsibilities, right?”

“For the most part,” Levi replies. “They might be terrible roommates, but I can’t exactly get rid of ‘em.”

Still ringing up the last of the items, Mikasa coyly turns her gaze directly his way. “Some sort of obligation?”

Levi lists off the generalities of his living situation. “Longtime friends, band-mates…”

To his surprise, Mikasa pauses and expresses interest in pursuing the matter. “Band, huh?” A hard-to-read smile perches on her lips. “Is it more of a hobby? Like a side thing?”

He’s used to these kinds of questions, therefore he’s more than willing to answer. “Started out as a hobby, until we started booking gigs and performing here and there.”

“Seems as though you like it enough.”

“The extra money is nice, especially when it’s for something I enjoy doing.” Levi pulls out his wallet, preparing to pay for the cleaning haul. “Some venues are better than others. Some crowds are tougher than others. It’s hit and miss sometimes.”

Upon finishing bagging up the items, Mikasa briefly changes the subject, reverting back to the task at hand. “I might’ve asked you last time you were here, but any chance you’re interested in signing up for our new rewards program?”

Levi knows it’s a part of her job to ask every customer. Hell, the manager probably keeps tabs on which employee has signed up the most people per shift. He himself once worked in retail, so he can relate to working in an environment where employees are pressured to fulfill such menial assignments.

Either way, he’s still reluctant. “What would that entail?”

Utilizing her charismatic skills to their full potential, Mikasa makes an effort to reassure any concerns. “It’s free to sign up. All we need is an email and phone number.” Aligning her gaze with the mountain of cleaning products, she quickly adds, “And given that you’re here every week to stock up for the apocalypse, I think you’d benefit from it.”

Levi ultimately relents. “Well when you put it that way, it sounds reasonable.” A smirk creeps along the corner of his mouth as he begins filling out a sign-up sheet. “I thought maybe you were just playing it cool, trying to get my phone number.”

His attempt at flirting certainly hasn’t gone unnoticed and Mikasa finds it impossible to suppress the surge of red rising to her cheeks.

“Just… doing my job,” is all she can manage.

Thank god it’s a slow night and there’s no one else in line behind him, or this might have been a thousand times weirder. She accepts both the small slip of paper and his form of payment, finalizing the transaction in one fell swoop.

“Have a good night,” she says, handing him his receipt.

Levi, assuming that’s the end of it, nods and moves to grab the plastic bags full of his purchases, thanking her before turning away. Suddenly, and so unexpectedly, Mikasa’s voice pipes up and momentarily stops him from leaving the checkout stand.

“You should let me know when your next gig is,” she states casually. “I’d love to hear you play some time.”

Levi wasn’t sure what he had done to have been rewarded this many 'good karma’ points, but he accepts his lucky break nonetheless. Keeping his tone as casual as hers, he responds with, “Well now that you have my number, maybe you should call me when you’re free.”

Mikasa contemplates his sly remark, shaking her head. “I have a better idea.” She pulls out a pen and small piece of paper, using the counter as a flat surface while she scribbles something down. Once she’s finished, she extends it towards Levi, encouraging him to take it.

Levi gladly accepts, and discovers the contents of the pocket-size note feature her phone number.

“How about you call me when you get the chance?” Mikasa’s clever witticisms are yet another reason Levi is convinced his taste in women is anything but questionable.

He keeps a firm grasp on the slip of paper, as though it’s a prize-winning lotto ticket. “I will.”

And he certainly does.

Levi doesn’t get nervous.

He and his band-mates have performed enough times to get a feel for what the crowd likes and wants to hear. The venues are usually small, local, and full of college-age spectators. The stages rarely ever differ, offering the bare minimum amount of lighting above a sturdy wooden platform.

It’s not the first time he’s performed at this bar in particular. By now, he’s familiar with the amiable staff and finally on a first-name basis with management. Levi and co are a crowd favorite at the popular Colossal Bar, having won the hearts of the locale’s regulars which in turn generates an influx of business for the establishment. It’s a win-win for all parties involved.

There must have been roughly a hundred people in the joint but just as Levi was set to perform his second song, a loose rendition of ‘When You Were Young’ by The Killers, his gaze falls upon a sight that seems unfathomably surreal.

Mikasa is standing in the center of the crowd, a faint smile adorning her face. With one hand occupied, holding her drink of choice, she raises the other and waves.

Levi still doesn’t get nervous. It only fuels his desire to perform his best.

Amid the vast sea of unfamiliar faces, some more sober than others, some more enthused than others, some even singing along, Levi only wants to look at her.

Halfway through the song, the energy of the crowd seems to magnify, with someone in the back whistling loud enough to be heard over the intensity streaming from finely tuned guitars and drums.

Cheers follow shortly after the well-received rendition comes to an end, transitioning to a brief interlude as the band prepares to end the performance with their last song for the evening. This time it’s an original, not a cover.

Levi’s foot taps against the floorboards to the opening of the song; the song he wrote after seeing Mikasa for the first time. Granted, she doesn’t know that…

See it on the people’s faces everywhere

Black ‘n blue but they won’t throw the towel in

And let go of a dream

Man, woman, child, prepare to bleed

The band had initially been weary of the how the audience would react to their original piece, but the reassurance comes flooding in as soon as hoots and hollers from the crowd adorn their ears in tandem with the palpable beat and lyrics.

Levi keeps a level head through and through, eyes still locked on Mikasa, seemingly holding an intense staring contest with the raven-haired beauty that blocks everything else out.

Do you believe that we can conquer this?

Can’t delete all the mess that I have seen

Fall in the fire but these burns will heal you

The array of lights overhead flicker as Levi backs away from the mic. At long last, they complete yet another successful gig. A round of applause echoes from every corner of the establishment, indicating the patrons are more than just satisfied with the evening’s performance. He and his band accept the riotous praise hailing from newfound fans of their music, waving to the plethora of enthusiasts.

Bidding his mates farewell, Levi hops off stage and scrambles among a few tipsy spectators in search of one particularly lovely guest.

Several girls are ogling him from every angle, to which Levi is hopelessly oblivious. Completely uninterested in their advances, Levi finally spots Mikasa at the bar and pulls up a seat in the stool right next to hers.

She’s the first one to speak, greeting the arrival of the band’s front man.

“Seems to me you underestimate yourself, Levi,” she mutters, taking a sip of her gin and tonic.

“How so?” he asks, curiosity brewing.

She blinks lazily, resting her elbows on the counter. “When you told me you were in a band, you failed to mention you guys were actually really good.”

Levi’s glad he doesn’t give her the impression he’s a cocky asshole. He hates cocky assholes who talk up a big game, finding it beyond amusing when their pride and inflated egos are their ultimate downfall.

He accepts the compliment without getting ahead of himself. “’Good’ is a subjective term, but I appreciate it.” He orders a drink and while waiting for the bartender to devise the concoction, he carries on with the conversation. “I’m really glad you came out tonight.”

“That makes two of us,” Mikasa replies, studying him with intoxicating bluish greys.

The bartender sets Levi’s whiskey and coke on a coaster, to which he’s quick to take a hearty swig. The alcohol helps take the edge off, though he’s not much of a drinker and is enjoying the social interaction regardless. He’s about to say something when Mikasa nudges him gently on the shoulder.

“Don’t look now,” she mumbles, “but I think you have a fan.“

Levi only scoffs at that. “Oh yeah?”

“A few tables behind you. Toward the back.” Mikasa chuckles. “She’s been checking you out this whole time.”

Levi doesn’t heed her initial advice and looks over his shoulder to pinpoint this interested fan of his.

Bingo.

Copper colored hair. Large hazel-brown doe eyes. Possible candidate for a one-night stand.

‘Doe eyes’ winks at him, the look on her face begging him to join her and her circle of friends for some chit-chat.

Levi instantly looks away, leaving Mikasa equal parts confused and intrigued.

“She’s cute,” she hums.

“She’s not my type,” Levi affirms. “Besides, I’m right where I want to be.”

Levi and Mikasa eventually make their way to the back of the room, loosening up on a couple of beige lounge chairs as the alcohol only mildly kicks in. There’s about an hour left until closing, most of the noise dying down as the evening fades into the deathly early hours of the morning. A few winks from interested college girls still dart his direction, but right now he’s only focused on the way Mikasa perks her lips every time she’s about to say something. He can’t be half-assed to care what happened to 'doe eyes’ or his band-mates, not while he has Mikasa in front of him.

He learns that she’s not from the area. That she was adopted at the age of three and grew up in a small town a few hours away. Aside from working at the grocery store, she’s a full-time college student, majoring in criminal justice.

Levi on the other hand, admits he’s never really been anywhere else. Small town guy hailing from humble beginnings, content with how his life is turning out.

“Maybe that’ll change,” Mikasa insinuates. “One day when you make it big, you’ll be able to go to all sorts of places.”

Levi huffs at that. “’Make it big?’” He sounds disdainful, as if musicians who only strive for fame and fortune aren’t true musicians at all. He vowed never to be a sell-out long before setting foot on-stage. “Not sure that’s the direction I want to take my career.”

Mikasa half-smiles. “Like I told you. You underestimate yourself.”

“I don’t know,” Levi shrugs. “I think I would grow to hate that kind of lifestyle fairly quickly.” Always on the road, lots of airports and hotels, lots of loud obnoxious people. The exact kind of shit he can’t stand.

Mikasa has always been a realist, so she understands where he’s coming from, but that doesn’t stop her from offering her own perspective. “That’s one way to look at it,” she begins, “but what about the message you’re trying to send? What about the people who look up to you? Your music is more than just an artistic way of expressing yourself. It could inspire the hearts of thousands, bring them all together, and make this messed up world just a tiny bit better.”

You could use your voice for so much more…

Levi blinks a few times, almost at a loss for words until he finally manages to think of how to respond to that. “Forget criminal justice, you should look into becoming a motivational speaker or something.”

“You have to accentuate the positive in life sometimes.”

“That’s funny.” Levi rubs his chin in thought. “I’ve definitely heard that somewhere.”

“You probably have.”

Levi smirks, contemplating his next move when his eyes wander to a mark on her wrist. It’s dark, a couple inches long, and vaguely resembles some sort of symbol. Without hesitation, he bluntly asks about it, the thought of whether or not it’s an inappropriate question never crossing his mind.

“Is there a story behind that scar on your wrist?”

Mikasa merely shakes her head, unmoved by the sudden query. “Only a relatively boring one.”

She leans closer to where he’s sitting, extending her arm and allowing for him to trace along the small indentation. “It’s a… family thing,” she says, breaking the intermittent silence.

His fingers continue lightly tracing along its short length, smooth to the touch. Funny how he’s never noticed it before.

Strange, he thinks to himself. Now he ponders the possibility of penning a song about it.

“So,” Mikasa whispers, drawing him out of his momentary daze, “when you do make it big, are you going to write a song about me?”

Okay, now she’s flirting. Teasing him rather with such irresistible charm ringing in her voice.

Levi realizes he hasn’t let go of her hand yet, and regardless if it’s the buzz or just his attraction to her, he’s not sure he wants to.

He suppresses another smirk. That’s right. She doesn’t know; that he’s written a few songs about her already.

But he doesn’t tell her that. He chooses to keep that to himself, replying in a low quiet voice.

“Maybe,” he finally mumbles, looking up at her, his gaze landing on the scar below her eye. He’s noticed this one in particular on a few occasions. It grazes just above the cheek, resting beneath dark lashes and wisps of jet-black hair. He’s unsure if he should ask about its origins, but something about the way she’s looking at him with seemingly innocent curiosity urges him to fulfill his desire to get to know more about her.

Levi ignores the tension growing tighter and tighter throughout his body, realizing no one has ever made him feel this way. He struggles trying to put it into words, frustrated that he can’t properly articulate the sensation raging beneath his calm demeanor.

“What about… this one?” he asks, reaching out to stroke the scar nestled below her eye.

Mikasa slightly shudders, but surprisingly doesn’t pull away. She lets his hand hover over the scar, his fingers tracing gently along as he had with the mark on her wrist.

She could cop it out to them being alone, secluded in a corner with dangerously low lighting. She could blame it on the alcohol, mere tipsy antics.

But she’s not naïve.

“Story for another day,” comes her response in a smooth, sultry voice.

Levi nods, understanding.

He wants to kiss her. He’s never been more hell-bent on kissing someone in his entire life, but he likes to think he has some semblance of self-control and patience; unlike his rowdy band-mates.

Then, to his ultimate demise, she does something that drives him absolutely crazy.

She bites her lip, as if in suspense, and he pretty much loses it.

He closes the already tight gap between them and presses his mouth against hers, indulging in the incredible warmth. She responds almost immediately by parting her lips, inviting his tongue to slide inside. She tastes like lime, and something unidentifiably sweet. It spurs him to pull her in closer, sliding his hand up to her jaw, cupping her face in his palm.

Somehow he feels dizzier, and her wandering hands and the way she bites his bottom lip playfully further intensify this heated lip lock.

They’re still kissing like long lost lovers when the clock strikes two in the morning. Patrons start to file out through the exit one by one. The bartender begins wiping down the counters. The remaining staff members commence the usual closing routine.

Mikasa pulls away, playfully chastising the both of them for staying out well past their bedtimes. “Can’t believe I’ve been here all night,” she sighs. It’s almost a gasp, though she doesn’t appear too shocked.

“Got a curfew?” Levi deadpans, eyelids heavy. He finds it amusing that she’s more concerned over something as trivial as the hour rather than drunkenly kissing someone she barely knows.

Although during their heavy makeout session, it honest to god really felt like he had known her forever.

Mikasa rolls her eyes. “No, I’m just never usually out this late, is all.”

“Ahhh.” Levi exhales, expecting her to bid him goodnight and promptly ditch his ass without further ado.

He’s taken aback when she grabs him by the hand and begins hauling away for the exit.

What was she thinking about? What was she planning? Levi has a guess, but decides not to assume anything just yet. They awkwardly stumble out onto the street and Mikasa makes an attempt to hail a cab right there off the main drag.

“What’s on your mind?” He feigns uncertainty.

“I was kind of thinking I wanted to take you to-go,” she replies softly but oh-so-sure of herself. “Unless you had other plans…”

Levi merely nods his head, the words straining to dispel from his mouth, only to be suppressed by the tender look in her eye. The lights of cars zooming by hone in on the enticingly dark and mysterious features sheathed within.

Ultimately, he wordlessly agrees to follow, figuring nothing else needs to be said.

Wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.

Years later…

When Levi does make it big, he seems to be the only one out of his small circle of friends that’s surprised. Many were certain it was his calling; that catching a lucky break and garnering all the fame and recognition had been predestined.

From his own perspective, however, he’s simply doing what he loves, and insists on keeping himself grounded.

Maintaining a low profile is nearly impossible for the musician especially with the recent release of a new album, spawning a surge in popularity among fans from coast to coast. People stop and fawn all over him when he’s just trying to take his dog out for a walk, or when he’s making a coffee run in the early mornings before recording at the studio.

He hates it. He really does.

But like someone once told him, he uses his voice for more than just the purpose of entertainment. He advocates for causes he has strong beliefs in and vocalizes support for various organizations that strive for the betterment of society as a whole. It’s one of the few things that keep him sane, convincing him the fame isn’t a total nightmare. Sure, it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be, but he’s grateful the opportunity to help make a difference is there.

A blinding flash jolts his senses back to the present. Today marks the first day of his nation-wide tour, commencing the long trek from home over a span of three months.

As he’s done far more times than he can count, Levi steps up to the microphone, other band members setting up behind him. Unlike the small suffocating venues from before, he’s standing on a giant outdoor stage, unmoved by the masses of screaming people shouting their praises in anticipation for the upcoming concert.

The crowd’s ready, but he’s still getting in the moment, the wild ruckus blurring into low distant hums.

Before he gives the nod to his fellow mates, Levi takes a moment to let out a deep breath, eyes roaming about the entire stadium.

It’s another giant sea of faces; people with names he’ll never know, with lives he’ll never learn about.

He’s taken back to that fateful night at the Colossal Bar. The night Mikasa came to watch him for the first time.

He’s disappointed that her face isn’t among those in the crowd like it was then. None of this would have been possible without her; it’s all meaningless to him otherwise. He glances down at the silver wedding band fitted on his left ring finger, thinking a part of her is still with him even when he’s away on tour.

A half-smile fades as quickly as it appears. He’s ready for the long night ahead of him.

Mikasa, his beautiful muse, his best friend, his wife, might not be there to watch him and his band perform all the heartfelt and deep songs he’s written about her all these years, but he’s immensely satisfied to know that she’ll be there when he finally comes home, waiting for him like she always does.

It’s the only thing that matters.